Runaway
by DracoNunquamDormiens
Summary: What happened the night Sirius escaped from Grimmauld Place? Why did he run? Featuring an evil!Voldemort and Walburga, running!Sirius, and Psychic!James. Angsty and dark, you've been warned. Enjoy!
1. Part One: Winter Solstice

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter franchise or its universe. I just play around in it, free of charge.

**Notes:** This is part of the backstory to Time of the Turning, although it goes well with Canon. Enjoy, R&R

* * *

**Runaway**

**By DracoNunquamDormiens**

_"You ran away from home?"_

_"When I was about sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough."_

_"Where did you go?" asked Harry, staring at him._

_"Your dad's place," said Sirius. "Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dad's in the school holidays, and when I was seventeen I got a place of my own. My Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold - he's been wiped off here, too, that's probably why - anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potter's for Sunday lunch, though."_

_-- Order of the Phoenix_

_

* * *

  
_

**Part One: Winter Solstice**

_They sold me out. They sold me out. _

_Merlin's __balls, __**she **__sold me out--_

He ran, that one thought racing through his head as wildly as he raced across deserted streets, bare feet splashing in icy puddles, slipping and sliding in the frozen mud, his breath coming out in ragged, steaming gasps.

What a way of spending a holiday.

Sure, there weren't many Muggles who celebrated the ancient Yule festival anymore, but Wizards did. Particularly those of ancient blood, who clung to the old ways like a lifeline. Families such as the Blacks.

It was no coincidence that his mother had picked today to hand him over. It was a day of great power, if you went by the Ancient Calendars. A day in which the most weighty of decisions were made; fate-changing decisions, as it were.

Not that this fact was helping him at all.

He ran faster, his legs felt like they were on fire - but he _had_ to get away, as far away from the Black town house as he could—as far away from his cousins as he could. Because they were following, and gaining on him.

How he had survived the fall, he wasn't sure; he _might _have transformed in midair, _might _have scrambled away in dog form - even if he wasn't in his dog form _now_. All he knew at this moment was that he wasn't dead, his legs were still working even if he felt quite close to falling apart, thus proving to him that, whatever all was wrong with him wasn't impairing his movement; that his head was spinning, and that he had to get as far away from them all as he could.

_They sold me out. Why?_ _**Why**_?

He slipped around a corner, tripped, fell, scrambled in a frozen puddle to regain his footing, chest heaving as he sucked in burning breath after burning breath, forcing his limbs to work in his frantic bid for escape.

How had it come to this?

His family life, if it could be termed such, had never been anything to boast of; ever since he was Sorted into Gryffindor, it became nothing short of pure hell, coming to his parents' for the Summer. Sirius never came to London unless for the Summer, or if he was 'required' by some stupid obligation or other, such as some of his parents' dinner parties, or his naming as 'heir apparent' by his father last Spring, or his dad's funeral a couple of months ago.

Sirius didn't really miss him all that much. There had been no parting words, not a shred of emotional attachment—just a formal letter telling him he was to step in as the head of the Blacks now Orion was gone.

Sirius hated the arrangement. His mother hated it even more, having always wanted Regulus to be in Sirius' place instead, but they were subjected to the rules of the Old Houses, and they all played the game; even Sirius had.

But no more.

There was one regard, the entire family seemed to agree in, though; they saw as little of each other as possible, getting together only when it couldn't be prevented by any means—only this time, it had been _different. _

_I should have seen it coming._

Sirius had toyed with the idea of leaving more than once. Ever since his first holiday back home, he'd spent hours daydreaming of forging himself a life of his own, away from his family's tyranny, their yoke and the obligations they insisted on shoving at him - petty, unnecessary demands of cruelty towards a world he had always found fascinating, one they despised beyond anything.

The Blacks, one of the High Houses of old, were Dark Wizards _par excellence_, priding themselves in their mastery of a kind of magic as dark as their name. That was where Orion and Walburga had encountered a wall with their eldest. He would never go Dark; he had fought it inch by inch for as long as he could remember, had rebelled against them and their ways, had paid for it dearly already.

Apparently it hadn't been enough to get his point across.

Despite all the signs that pointed towards it, Sirius had never thought that it would end like _this_.

Not too far behind, he could hear - or was he imagining it? - the echoing footfalls of the Death Eaters in pursuit. Could hear Bellatrix' and Narcissa's angry mutters as they were forced to join them, rather than carry on with the 'festivities'. Had he had half a mind for the irony at the moment, he'd surely have appreciated it far better. His _cousins _were hot after his blood, and the worse it ended for him, the prouder the family would be... The prouder his _mother_ would be.

_They sold me out. She sold me out. _

_How could she?_

Skidding to a halt around a corner, Sirius pressed his back against a red brick wall, putting a hand over his mouth to still the ragged noise of his breathing and muffle a wince. He had _one _chance at this - just the one. And he knew what would happen if he messed it up; the same things that had happened so far, the same things he was trying to escape from.

_"Imperio! Bow before your betters, you insolent __blood-traitor!" The floating sensation had been so nice... so warm, enticing... Emboldening. He could do anything in this state, _anything_ he wanted._

_Sirius snorted, derision and contempt seeping out despite the spell that was holding him __– but, as it was, he wasn´t held by it. He never was anymore. "There are no betters of mine here. Just..." He shrugged one shoulder. "Just you lot." The floating sensation of being in a dream vanished with a quiet __**pop**__. _

_What followed was a long string of threats, curses, both known and unknown to him, which he tried to dodge as best as he could - to a most mediocre effect. In his defense, there was little to be done in a room packed with people, all of whom had their wands all but shoved up his nose__, all of whom were angry at him—quite possibly due to something he had said or done to taunt them during the last handful of minutes— all of whom knew a whole range of most interesting spells - and most of whom had been itching to use them on him for months. _

_Some hit. Some didn't. Others yet ricocheted off the walls and hangings of Sirius' room and cracked the windows into bits. For a few moments, there was only a confusion of yells, harsh laughs, incantations, and screams._

_Most embarrassingly, those last were __exclusively his._

_"Imperio!" A screech this time. _

_Sirius didn't care; he was in a __warm, floating bubble again, there was no pain, no weakness here. There was no fear... _

No fear.

_Such a delightful feeling, washing off the pain, the shakiness... He looked at the group assembled before him, eyes glazed over and unfocused. Bellatrix, who had cast it this time, smirked. _

_Sirius watched her from the floor, where he had landed after the last Cruciatus was lifted. _

_"Get up."_

_He did, with surprising ease. The others chuckled and giggled. Even in his state, he found that annoying._

_"Dance. Like a monkey." Laughter erupted. _

_Sirius gave them a mildly interested look, but did not stir. Dancing was stupid without music, and dancing for __**them**__, well. "I said, dance like a monkey!"_

_"Why don't you do it?" Sirius suggested easily. Again, the float__ing feeling vanished. It happened every time, had become the norm for a while, and it drove his mother mad with rage: Every Imperius cast at him was useless; he threw it off with irritating ease. Due to overexposure, probably. _

_Sirius prided himself in his ability, even if at times like this, it was rather counterproductive; inevitably, he would say something to rile them up, and this time, he was grossly outnumbered,__ wandless, and without any hope for help. _

_And there he went. _

_His inner voice squeaked out a panicked yelp __of a warning a split second before Sirius opened his mouth again, to no avail. Even under the curse, he gave Bellatrix a cocky grin, and added, "It should be pretty natural for you - you look like an orangutan anyh--" _

_"Everbero!"_

_It hit him square in the chest and sent him flying into the wall right behind him, making the portrait of Phineas Nigellus sway dangerously. Not that old Phineas seemed to mind; the bastard was snickering._

_"-ow." Sirius finished at a wheeze, sliding to the floor._

_Something in the back of his head had told him, nay, had __screamed __its warnings at him, but he couldn't help himself. Every single time they said something, no matter what it was, he just __had __to say something back, preferably something to incense them. _

_Every time. _

_And he had become quite the little expert at hacking them off royally. He could do it with a minimal investment of words, energy, and magic. Proficiency, some would call it. Idiocy, was what his mind supplied instead. _

While getting bullied by his cousins had been a regular occurrence at every family get-together, they'd never brought their little play-dates along before, or ambushed him in his bedroom. Sirius had never been unarmed before – unless he counted his first year back at home, when his father had taken his wand away – but, again, this had been different. This was as different as it could get, and he knew he probably wouldn't make it past the Yule.

Particularly not if they caught up with him.

The group chasing him was coming closer, getting louder, their pounding footsteps indicating they were approaching fast. Sirius peeled himself off the wall he'd been leaning against and took off once more, forcing his legs to carry his weight once again-

"Oy! There he is!"

"Where?"

"There! Get him!"

"Come back, little cousin!" Bella shouted happily after him. "Oh, go on, don't run away!"

He just ran faster.

* * *

Pacing had not helped James Potter any more than counting sheep had.

Staring out his window into the snow-covered village of Godric's Hollow that stretched out at the foot of the hill upon which Godric's Hall stood... offered a pretty sight, but wasn't helping him at all, either.

"Honey, you should try and get some sleep."

"I'm not sleepy, Mum," James mumbled, not bothering to turn around.

"What's wrong?" Betty Potter reached her son's side, pressed a mug of steaming hot chocolate into his hands, which he reluctantly accepted. He had been this way all day, hadn't even finished his Yule Dinner, and that was most unusual for him. She'd made all his favourite foods.

"It's... It's weird," James told her, shaking his head. Then he sighed, giving in to his mother's concerned look. "It's about Sirius, he's in trouble."

"When is Sirius _not _in trouble?" his mum asked gently, but she too, had been worried. As was her husband. They usually worried, though, when Sirius was wanted home for a holiday, so this was sadly nothing out of the ordinary.

"It's _different_ this time, Mum," James said. He pulled a scroll out of his pocket. "This came in earlier."

The scroll's seal - bearing the Potter crest - wasn't broken.

"I don't..." Betty started, but then James turned the scroll around. Written on it, in an untidy scrawl that could only belong to a Sirius in a great hurry, she read, '_DON'T WRITE AGAIN_'.

"Oh," she said after a moment. What more could be said to that? The implications were not unknown to either of them, and neither were the sort to repeat themselves unnecessarily.

"I'm worried," said James, pocketing the scroll. "I... I think something happened."

"Well, you know how his family gets," Betty tried to ease his mind, but it became obvious she ought to have chosen a different opener for it. James grimaced.

"Do I ever."

"Maybe it's another one of those... pointless rules they have?"

"I hope that's all it is," James mumbled, but he seemed unconvinced. "What if he's..."

She didn't let him finish.

"James darling, you need to _sleep_. It's late. We might yet get word from Sirius, maybe your letter arrived at a bad time- he was in a hurry to get rid of it, it's just a scribble. He'll probably write soon enough, he never goes any length of time without doing so."

James nodded, but instead of listening to her, he looked out the window again, as if he expected Sirius to show up on the snowed-in front lawn.

"Don't stay up all night fretting, dear." Betty Potter said with a sigh, admitting defeat. She kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his already untidy hair before leaving her son's room. There was nothing she or anyone could do to make him feel better; the only one who could do that was Sirius. She hoped he'd send word soon; she was worried too, and James had done nothing to put her worries at rest.

James flopped down on his bed and sipped his chocolate, but it didn't bring the calm it usually did. His stomach was wringing itself into knots, his eyes were stinging with tiredness, but he wasn't any closer to sleep than he had up until now. What _could_ he do? Worry and fret, but nothing else—

The vision came to him abruptly, unbidden, making his room melt away in a split second, landing him in another, which was as familiar as his own, even though he had never before set foot in it, nor would he ever do so.

_Sirius flew across his room, amidst gales of laughter._

_"Happy Yule, little cousin. Have you missed us? I've certainly missed __**you**__."_

James jerked upright - the vision faded a little before his eyes as James asserted himself as sitting on his own bed at home, but the distinct sensation of what was going on, miles and miles away, lingered most unpleasantly.

He had been right.

Sirius was in trouble of the worst kind. That had been Bellatrix walking into his room- As if on cue, her voice reached James' ears.

_"We've come to help you get ready for your trip."_

_"What the hell are you on about?"_ Sirius' wheezing voice was harsh and snappish, but he was frightened, James could tell. And that was never good.

_They just laughed, raised their wands._

The visions and flashes of images came to him like a badly-edited film, a puzzle he didn't need to see whole to put together, snatches of sentences ringing in his ears. At first, he recognised the faces, but then they gave way to others he didn't know. Others in black robes and silver Death Eater masks.

Sirius was in trouble; that had become clear to James from the moment he'd gotten the letter ordering him home, a few days before the holidays. How terribly bad this trouble was _hadn't_ been clear to James, though, not until he saw a flash of poisonous yellow before his mind's eye.

James swallowed, even as over 400 miles away, Sirius howled out in pain.

The connection broke.

* * *

The Death Eaters were coming closer; he could hear the tracking spells they unhurriedly cast louder each time. Instinctively, Sirius slunk back into the shadows, trying to blend in with the scenery.

There wasn't much to blend into, however.

His hearing, sharpened beyond human measure, could pick up every sliver of sound for yards around, from the record of Muggle Christmas Carols blaring a few houses down, to the rapidly decreasing distance between his pursuers and him. He could almost tell how far away they were. Still, he did not move.

_Just a few more steps. Focus. _Focus...

Could he even pull it off? Never mind without being spotted, or tracked, as he was trying to do.

_What else _can_ I do?_

It was his only option: wandless magic was something he had mastered ages ago, something he needed to learn for his Animagus transformation, something that had helped him out of a tight spot more than once. But he had never attempted it in the heart of Muggle London, and he was acutely aware of what would happen if the Ministry tracked him down on top of everything else. Getting away from the Death Eaters would have been a waste of time; he'd get tossed into Azkaban for it. So he had to do it at the same time someone else cast a spell, thus confusing the Ministry's tracking system. He'd done it before.

But could he do it _now_?

He was shaking, struggling to remain standing even, half-frozen, half-dead, bleeding and hurting and exhausted and in the open - but he had to try. At the very least, he had to try. It was his only chance. He wouldn't manage to keep this pace up any longer.

The footsteps approached further, a voice he had learned to despise with his every cell muttering an incantation over and over, rhythmically and in a sing-song voice. Sirius was glad for this; if he wanted to pull it off, he would have to time it and transform at the very moment the spell was cast. Otherwise, his Trace could activate - he wasn't sure if it applied to wandless magic cast in a non-magical setting, but if it did... Then he'd be toast.

_Don't think, just do. Focus. Deep breath... Now--_

Lucius Malfoy stepped around the corner, the spell he had been casting and re-casting since leaving the Black Town House dying on his lips.

The tracking spell returned no result, where one moment ago, it had told him Sirius was right around the corner he had just turned. But the street was completely deserted.

Lucius cursed at midvoice.

He cast the spell again - and nearly walked into a large black dog curled up next to a phone booth. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up and down the street, cast the spell again, cursed out his frustration, aiming a kick at the ball of fur that still lay there, unmoving as if dead.

"Where is he?" Bellatrix demanded, catching up with him and ignoring the dog completely. "Why did you stop?"

"He's... _gone_," Lucius muttered, cursing under his breath yet again, with the same result as before.

"What do you _mean_, 'he's gone'?" Bellatrix shrieked. She had never cared who saw her, heard her, who noticed she was a witch, and at times like these, it was best to let her vent before she exploded. She always took it out on whoever happened to be closest, and Lucius wasn't fool enough to try and rein in her temper. "He can't be _gone_, Lucius!"

"Are you sure you cast the tracking spell correctly?" Narcissa had caught up with them, even as Rodolphus and Rabastan, Gregory Mulciber and Ambrose Flint hurried up the street to join them. The group, all of whom minus Narcissa had left Hogwarts already, wore the same kind of expensive-looking black robes, which were splattered here and there with smudges of dirt, frost, and the same sticky red substance that was trickling, unnoticed, from the dog's back and front.

"Yes, Cissy, _I'm sure_." Lucius' annoyance was evident in his tone, although he somehow managed to restrain his anger. Raging about was for people like Bellatrix, too wild to so much as consider the meaning of the term self-control. He, though, was above such things; he had to be, if he wanted to marry Cissy someday, raising his bloodline up to the level of the High Houses. "It was working perfectly well... until now."

"Do you think he can Apparate?"

"He's too young to," grunted Flint, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "He's still underage."

"Do you think that's enough of a reason to assume he _can't_ do it?" Rabastan shook his head, panting to catch his breath. "He could have picked it up somewhere, the little bastard-"

"Even if he _knew _how, he couldn't _possibly _have _apparated_, don't be _stupid_," snapped Lucius, drawing attention away from the dog, whose hackles were rising. When he stressed words needlessly like that, it meant he was _very _annoyed. "He's got no wand, and he's pretty beaten up. Probably just hiding around here... somewhere."

Not three feet away, the dog shifted ever so slightly, keeping its startling grey eyes downcast. It seemed to be considering making a break for it.

"How far _can_ he go, anyway?" Bella asked, snorting. "He's barefoot, and in his _jammies_, for crying out loud - and after that fall..." she shook her head. "Can't have been thinking straight, can he? He was crazed enough to jump out of a fourth storey—Lucius is right. Maybe we passed him on the way here. There's no way he's escaped, not after what our Lord-"

"Re-cast the spells," Rodolphus ordered, interrupting her. "Impossible or no, I don't think the Master will be too pleased when he learns the brat escaped."

"It's not our Master I'm worried about," said Bellatrix haughtily. "Worry about our _auntie _when she finds out we don't have him. After all she's done to keep him in the house this past week..."

"Maybe," said Cissy, and she sounded rather hopeful about it too, "Maybe he's _dead_. That's why the tracking spell stopped working," she added brightly, as if she had just worked out the solution to a riddle. She shrugged her petite shoulders, flashed them all a bright smile. "He died."

"That would be a shame," Bellatrix said, and she too, sounded earnest. "Didn't you hear all that the Master wanted to do with him?" She cackled, a half-crazed laugh that was eerily reminiscent of Sirius' mother. "He would have turned into the perfect Black afterwards. Loyal to the cause. A true follower of our Lord."

"That blood-traitor would never be fit to wipe the dirt from our Master's shoes," objected Rodolphus disdainfully. "He'd better be dead."

"You're just jealous because his blood's ever so much purer than yours, darling," drawled Bella, smiling at him and patting him on the cheek. "He's a disgrace, yes, but once our Master has made him see that our ways are better than whatever it is his confused little mind has led him to believe... Then he _will _be great. He has the power to be, as do all us Blacks, and our Master-"

"If you're _quite _done," Lucius muttered impatiently, tapping his foot on the ground. "We still have to go get him, be it dead or alive. I don't think our Master will want to hear that he got away because we were forced to listen to your little speech, or believe he is dead unless we have a body to show for it."

"Auntie won't be happy about that either," Cissy chimed in. Bellatrix gave her a sour look; she was infatuated with her Master, and took any chance to boast his virtues to the four winds.

"She won't like it, Bella, you know how she gets. It's not that we don't like listening to you, or that what you're saying isn't the pure truth. It's just that we don't have much time." Rabastan told her bracingly, and Bella relented.

"Well, they're both waiting back in the house and we're all freezing out here. I say let's get cracking," she muttered, all business again.

They left, talking amongst themselves, casting every tracking, detection, and search spell they knew. The dog, who had gone overlooked by everyone and remained completely still in his corner, stood up and shook its fur out, spraying dirt, water, and blood every which way, before taking off in the opposite direction at an uneven pace.

* * *

Though as a dog his emotions were much less raw and less complicated, rational thought remained. His mother had sold him out to Voldemort. His entire family had. This realisation sort of killed the relief he ought to be feeling at having escaped from the Great Sodhead himself.

He gave a doggy, yet no less bitter, chuckle. That was a fitting name for Voldemort, a much more descriptive one at the very least - though Bastard, conventional and unoriginal as it was, fit as well.

_Great Bastarding Sodhead, maybe?_ He trotted down the street, tail held low. Though his Animagus form was fantastic for distance and speed travel, he was in no fit state to _travel _anywhere, and he knew it.

Best make the most of it while his limbs still worked; in London, the sight of a bearlike, pony-sized dog would arouse much greater suspicion than it would in the countryside.

Sirius knew everything there was to know about the restrictions on underage magic, so he didn't turn back into his human form; he couldn't safely do so, not until he reached a place where magic was regularly practiced at. The Trace was still on him, and his chances of survival equalled zero if it alerted the Ministry: the Death Eaters would be on him like stink on cheese before he had gone three paces.

Besides, he was much better equipped to go places as Padfoot. Four legs were much steadier than two, even if they were all torn-up and not quite responsive, and fur was loads warmer in the wintry cold than his torn-up pyjamas, despite the gashes he felt along his back; he drew attention to himself due to his size, yes, but as long as he was careful, this was his best chance of survival. A bloodied-up kid in torn pyjamas was far more likely to be noticed by Muggles and Wizards alike.

He padded silently down streets that were as deserted as the ones around Islington, half-listening to the sounds in nearly every pub he passed. The smell of food wafted to his nose, combined with scents of beer, of cider, of joy, of carefree partying, of _home_.

Not _his_ home, to be sure. He had never really had one, unless he counted Hogwarts. The Black Town House he had just barely escaped from had never had, and would never have, any of the traits of a home. As he saw it, it wasn't even a proper _house_. Rather, it was a mausoleum to his ancient heritage, as dead inside as his old ancestors were, every bit as despised by him as his entire family tree.

Or _almost _his entire family tree.

He stopped next to Blackfriar's Bridge for a breather, certain now he was no longer being followed - though distance alone wouldn't really do the trick. Such things were mere trifles for wizards, particularly the sort he had royally hacked off this go round.

Sirius sat back on his haunches, ignoring the raw twinges all along his back. He needed to think, needed to decide what to do. He couldn't afford messing up now; he had to go somewhere safe. Somewhere where he could get help, because right now, he'd just become a part of Voldemort's blacklist, and few ever survived long after achieving such a thing.

Where _could _he go, though?

He had been wondering for the better part of an hour, and the urgency of finding a destination was increasing the more distance he put between himself and his former house, the more tired he became. Who would take him in? Who would dare challenge the Dark Side like that?

There weren't many options.

_First off, who would dare go against Walburga Black openly?_ Her ill temper and far-reaching curses were well-known to wizardkind, and now Sirius' father was dead and he was being hunted, she was, albeit temporarily, the head of this ancient family, endowed with every power that came with it, holding the post until the rightful heir to the Second Line came of age. Sirius was meant to step in as head of the Blacks in a year or so, and he often wondered who hated the arrangement more; him or his mother. Or Reg, who was ever so much _better_ at being a right proper Black than him.

Sirius sighed, wiggling his ears as he scanned his surroundings for sounds of anyone approaching, and returned to his previous line of musings. They weren't any better than his bitter thoughts on his family.

Few would dare go against his mum. Fewer still would take in a Black anyhow; the whole family was considered wizards of the darkest kind until proven otherwise. And nobody, aside from a handful of people (either very brave or _very _stupid people), would dare house _anyone _who was wanted by Voldemort.

Much less if it was a Black.

_Dammit_.

His first thought went to James; the Potters had been on Voldemort's hitlist for as long as anyone could remember, and had survived alright so far.

But they had enough trouble as it was, without him crashing every plan they might have... Voldemort wanted the Potters dead, that's what he had wanted him for in the first place, wasn't it?

_"You are friends with the Potters' boy, are you not?" Voldemort crouched in front of Sirius, his mass of robes swishing as his blue eyes pierced into Sirius' grey. Sirius stared back, but he did so with dread. Voldemort smiled at Sirius again, and this time, Sirius shivered. "You will bring them to me."_

What?

_"No." Sirius whispered at once. It was not quite a plea, not quite an answer, filled with horror. He swallowed, the full extent of what Voldemort really wanted to do with him sinking in, even as something pinned him in place, holding him still while strands of magic, of powerful and alien magic, started probing his mind. Searching for something, something he didn't want to give-_

_Sirius reacted out of instinct; years of living amidst the Blacks had taught him to keep a secret, and he shut his mind off, shoved Voldemort's attempts at Legilimency aside. It was a great effort, but he managed to push him out. Barely._

_"_No_," he repeated. He was panting, but this time it _**was**_ an answer, firm and without hesitation. _

_"Mark my words," Voldemort said, as pleasantly as before, now standing to tower before the boy lying on the rug at his feet. "__Before this year is over, you'll hand me the Potters, starting with that remarkable young friend of yours, James."_

_"_You mark mine_," Sirius spat, opening his overlarge mouth once more. This time, though, his inner voice wasn't screaming any warnings. It was screaming highly creative obscenities at Voldemort, which Sirius was itching to voice. Instead he added, "That's not going to happen."_

"_Is that right?" Nobody could have missed the challenge in Voldemort's tone._

"_It's not going to happen," Sirius repeated through barred teeth. Voldemort laughed._

Sirius swallowed. He couldn't very well go leading a band of Munchers to the Potters, now could he? What if it was all some part of an intricate plan to make him lead the Munchers to James' very doorstep?

Sirius dismissed the idea of heading for Godric's Hollow, though he wished desperately he could count on his best mate's help - but that would mean playing straight into Voldemort's hands, wouldn't it?

And yet... James would know what to do in this fix. He'd have a good idea or three at the very least, could let Sirius borrow his great-grandfather's wand, which for some reason wasn't too bad a fit, or at the very least let him borrow some clothes and food. He'd...

_He'd get killed, or worse._

Sirius steered sharply away from this train of thought. It wasn't getting him anywhere. The least he could do for James and his family, was warn them. Warn them to be careful... If Launcelot were still alive, he'd be able to. As things stood, though...

Sirius sighed again, burying his nose between his paws. It was all such a royal cock-up.

_Could __I try Andie? _

His cousin had run away from home too, gotten married to Ted Tonks, become a Healer - but there was the matter of her having a tiny tot of a daughter to think of, and she and Ted had managed to stay out of trouble by sheer force of luck. They didn't need Sirius running to them, didn't need that extra attention, didn't need the Dark Side to remember that they existed.

So it was a no. Not even for a moment, not even in passing.

_Uncle Alfie, perhaps?_

He'd helped Sirius out before, had let James visit him at his Scotland house during the holidays, had even rescued him a few times from his enraged parents after some of his stupider stunts.

Uncle Alfie was an outcast already, and Sirius knew of few who had the same sort of power as he had - maybe Alfie couldn't take him in, directly - this was hugely different from smuggling him to James' for a day or two - but he'd surely help him out in a way or another.

That Alfie's house was very close to Wales, and thus, to James', was just a happy coincidence, one he and James had milked many times before during the holidays. Deciding he'd send word to James when he got the chance, Sirius set off, hoping he wasn't making a great mistake.

* * *

"_Gone_?!" The shriek made even the portrait of the house's mistress cringe. Walburga Black was beside herself with fury.

"He... He might be dead, Auntie," Cissy tried, but she could not do much to conceal the glee this thought still caused her. For a seventeen-year-old, she was dreadfully grown up when she wanted to.

"Mights and maybes are of no use to me!" Walburga snapped heatedly, but Lord Voldemort, perched on a plush armchair in the front parlour, placated her with a gesture.

"Rest assured, my dear Walburga, that I shall do everything in my power to find your stray son," he said placidly, his tone betraying none of the anger that was glinting in his eyes. "I shall endeavour to find and shape him in the best way for a head of the High House of Black."

"Before you start on any shaping," Walburga said angrily, her yellowing skin making her look rather more crazed than before. "I wish to do some of my own."

"When he is found, and he _shall_ be," Voldemort countered, "you shall be the first to hear of it. He is, after all, yours, milady."

* * *

It was dawning when he finally stopped, flopping onto his belly without any ceremony whatsoever. He had crossed the River Thames South over the Blackfriar's Bridge, then taken a detour - or gotten lost - before he'd gone West again. He was aware of that much.

At some point before his brain stopped working altogether, he had determined - though by what thought process he had done this, was a great mystery to him - that it was the general direction out of London and to the West. So he'd just... carried onwards, in as straight a line as he could manage.

West. That was where Alfie was. Where he could get some manner of help, along the way towards his real destination, one he hadn't thought of before for some reason.

Hogwarts was the only truly safe haven he knew. There was a bed there and food, and maybe even Pomfrey, who'd make everything alright again. Moreover, that was where Dumbledore was, and his only chance at having someone take him in without making himself even more of a target than he already was. Dumbledore had always challenged Voldemort, and Voldemort feared him. Dumbledore didn't give one jot about blood status or the like either; he had even taken Moony in, hadn't he? Maybe he'd take Sirius in too, and... Well, he would just try and take it from there.

The public garden he was in was as empty as he felt, the crunching of frost under his paws the only sound. People had been celebrating - not the Yule, perhaps, but just that it was a Friday, and the beginning of their holidays - and now they were, for the most part, sleeping it off. It would be a lazy day, which meant fewer dangers of Muggles wanting to call the pound on him... Sirius curled up at the base of a tree, letting out a slow breath. He needed to sleep, to rest, to go to Alfie's, then to Hogwarts...

But sleep wouldn't come.

In its stead, came a host of thoughts.

He should have known something was up the second he got that letter from his mother, ordering him to London for the Christmas holidays. He _should have known_, the minute he set foot in that accursed house and had his wand taken from him. He should have known what she would do - and quite probably, he _had _known all along.

Not that she'd arrange for Voldemort to come pick him up to 'straighten him out', no... But he _did _know she was up to something when she locked him up in his room outright and warded it as securely as a Gringott's vault. When she killed Launcelot, his owl. When she personally came to bring him food every day at random times, so he never knew what to expect. He'd even returned James' letter, unopened, warning him not to write again, for fear she'd notice.

What, exactly, she'd had in store for him, had only become evident a few hours into the afternoon on Yule day, when he heard his cousins and their friends arrive, all laughs and itching to help in his 'education' to become a proper pure-blooded wizard. And even then, when they decided to pay him a visit to 'get him ready for his trip', he hadn't really understood what they meant.

_"Now, now, children," the dark-haired wizard said, stepping into the complete mess of a room and interrupting a round of rather nasty curses being thrown at Sirius. "This is no way to treat anyone of such pure blood, of such ancestry." The room, which had been left unheated for days, became even more chillingly cold, and from his less-than-vantage location on the floor, Sirius briefly wondered if they'd kill him - it would have been a blessing at this point in time. _

_The wizard flashed him a smile. Rows of perfect teeth, gleaming unnaturally white in the flickering light of the snake-shaped candelabra overhead, were bared in an almost feral grimace, even as eyes flashed red at him. Voldemort watched him avidly, hungrily. Sirius swallowed dryly._

_"He has become a fine lad, Walburga," he said appreciatively. Only then did Sirius spot his mother standing on his doorstep, arms folded and watching him coolly. "Headstrong. Resilient. Courageous, even if he's facing an almost certain death. I like that in a wizard. It is a mark of a great heritage." Had he been watching all this time?_

_Sirius swallowed, heart hammering in his chest. The cold that had come in with Voldemort contradicted the soft, near-gentle tone of his voice, meant to lull him into agreeing with him. But how __**could **__he? How could he agree with someone who had made a point in bringing terror, pain, and death wherever he went? How could he ever agree with someone who represented everything he hated in Wizardkind?_

_And what, he'd like to know, was this darkest of wizards bloody doing in his room?!_

_"He will make a terrific addition to my ranks," Voldemort said, sounding like he was looking at a particularly nice piece of decoration. _

The hell I will.

_Voldemort chuckled in response to Sirius' thoughts, making the latter freeze with realisation._

_"Oh yes, you will, young warlock." His tone brooked no uncertainty. "You are to come with me now, into an early... apprenticeship." The way he drawled out the last word made something inside Sirius snap. _

_Everything became clear; his presence here for Christmas, when he rarely ever returned home for anything other than the Summer since first year. His imprisonment, the lack of food or heat - to weaken him, no doubt - the killing of his owl, even. The look on his mother's sallow face was enough to confirm it all._

He should have known.

It still made the betrayal hard to bear.

None of that mattered now. He'd managed to escape - although if he'd managed to do so sooner, he'd probably have fared loads better than he was doing now. Every bone ached, and, fur or no fur, he was freezing, hungry, exhausted. But he had gotten away. He was still alive, even if they'd done everything to prevent that from happening.

Sirius curled up into a tight ball, pressed against the tree, and closed his eyes, more to avoid thinking about his current troubles than in any hopes to sleep.

* * *

Over two hundred miles further north, a black-haired boy was trying unsuccessfully to sleep as well.

He _knew_.

He _knew_ something was wrong. Terribly wrong, and though he wasn't sure of what had happened down to the last detail, he'd seen bits and pieces. Enough to know it was bad, and that Sirius was... Sirius was hurt.

He knew that, because he _always _did. Just as Sirius always knew if he was alright. They'd cast that spell in first year for that, hadn't they?

_"Alright, according to the book, we're supposed to say something like... "_Fraternum anime sanguium perenne..._"_

_"Something_like _that?" James snorted nervously. "Ever heard about that wizard who didn't say a spell right?"_

_"The Buffalo bloke? Yeah, Flitty said something to that effect, didn't he?" Sirius too, stared nervously at the scroll he was holding in his hand, while balancing a sharp two-edged dagger in the other. _

_"You're asking _me_? We were putting dungbombs on Evans' seat, I wasn't listening." James went ignored, in the face of this much more important thing they were doing. Trying to, at any rate._

_"Well, this is pretty smudged," Sirius decided__ in return, bringing his lit wand closer to the old scroll they'd nicked from the Restricted Section, and the dagger he was holding passed dangerously close to James' nose as he too, leaned closer. "It could be either... _perenne _or _perecce_...I reckon."_

_"You _reckon_? Mate, '_Perecce'_ means _die_, doesn't it?"_

_"__Aye. Perenne sounds better to me too," said Sirius, who seemed completely unfazed by the rather dangerous alternative. "What do you reckon?"_

_James squinted at it. Took the scroll in his hands, turned it round a bit, fingers trembling. Not due to the cold._

_"Yeah," he agreed after a few tense moments. "It's... it's _perenne_." _

_"Let's get to it, then," Sirius said, but his voice too, was unsteady. If anything went wrong, and so much could go wrong, they'd be goners - nobody would find them, out here in the heart of the Forest, much less if they managed to somehow kill themselves..._

They'd still done it. Caught up in the memory, James closed his eyes. It was vivid, like so much else he'd shared with Sirius over the years, he could recall every detail, every smell, every sensation called forth by that ancient spell they'd cast on themselves.

_They'd cast the circle, two raven-haired eleven-year-olds with entirely too many ideas on their minds and lacking any sort of sense to prevent them from putting them in action. _

_They might have been little Firsties at the time, but their priorities had been clear. __Odd, how that had not changed over the years. _

_They had had one purpose for being in the Forbidden Forest during the Samhain. Halloween was past, and it was the time between his and Sirius' birthdays, the time when their bond would be strongest._

_"That went well," Sirius mumbled, looking at the shimmering bubble they now stood in, which glowed faintly golden in the clearing. _

_Aside from the words of the spells needed for the ritual, it was the last thing he or James said for many hours._

_They'd cut their palms open, with far less hesitation than they'd believed they would have, but once they'd gotten started with the ritual, it was as if some strange, ancient force had gotten a hold on them both, every bit as old as the magic they were performing. They had said the words of the spell as one, their voices strangely carrying and loud in the silent forest, which was still as anything, witnessing an ancient ritual that had been long forgotten._

_They'd put their palms together - and whatever happened next was lost on both of them._

James remembered a flash of bright light, a feeling of being taken apart and put together again, outwardly the same, yet completely different. He and Sirius had become fused together, in magic, mind, body, and soul.

Two of the Ancient Bloodlines bonded together seamlessly, completing one another, making every cell tingle with power, becoming one and then separating into two halves, so similar magically that they might as well have been twins.

_"That.__.." Sirius had breathed, when they'd both woken up spread-eagled on the forest ground._

_"Was wicke__d cool," James finished for him, in the same breathless voice. _

_Hazel eyes met silvery grey. _

_"I know what you're thinking!" They chorused, voices squeaky and childish __and thoroughly excited once more. _

_They'd done it. No matter what__ happened, what turns life took for either of them; they'd not be apart again. _

_They'd known it then, had known from that moment on the weightiness of what they'd done. _

_And they'd laughed._

_They'd tapped into the Ancient Magic that night, and they'd carried on doing so hence; the ritual had unlocked something in them, given their already natural understanding of magic an __added edge. It had become so much greater, when it had started off as just... a way to formalise their friendship, a way to seal it so it wouldn't die no matter what happened. _

_They'd done it, because Sirius feared his parents would send him to Durmstrang after the disgrace they'd suffered, at having him be the first Gryffindor in the Black Line si__nce its creation. His mother's Howler had made it clear - so they had looked around, had stumbled upon this ritual. Thought it_ groovy.

_A ritual that bound them to one another: soul to soul, mind to mind, body to body, magic to magic - blood to blood. _

_Blood brothers. _

_Two as one, until they both died._

It had seemed the right thing to do, back then, and neither had regretted it ever since; it had linked their minds together so thoroughly they could even see through each other's eyes, in times of danger. The link had never failed them before.

It had never sent such disturbing imagery to James' mind either, nor so sketchy.

Sirius was hurt, somewhere cold, in danger. Alone.

And James had the distinct feeling Sirius didn't want him to know where he was. Somehow, he was blocking James out.

"_Dammit_."

Leaving his mug on the sill, James whistled for Alcyone, his owl.

"Damn you, Sirius," he muttered, scribbling a quick note and fumbling with the string to tie it to Alcyone's leg. "What did you get yourself into this time?" _And where the hell are you?_

"Sorry girl, I know it's brass monkeys out," he told the owl, as she swayed on his arm. "Just find him and bring me the answer, alright?"

He watched Alcyone disappear into the night, but his hopes didn't soar with her; what if he didn't get an answer?

* * *

_"You have been entrusted to my care," Voldemort said softly. "To bring you to your senses, to prepare you to become what you are meant to be - the head of the Black Line, loyal to the Pureblood Cause. And you'll prove it b__y bringing James Potter to me. Ah, the two of you together... Just imagine what you could accomplish."_

_"Are you deaf or just plain __stupid?" Sirius' voice was merely a whisper, and he wondered if he could raise it any further if he tried. He knew, he __**knew **__he'd not survive this meeting. And he didn't care one jot about it anymore. Death, at this point, would be welcome on his part. "I'll never join you, or your ruddy Cause - or your army of utter idiots."_

_To everyone's surprise, Voldemort la__ughed. An earnestly amused laugh that drowned out the furious mutters around him._

_"You see, Sirius, that is the sort of thing that won't do," he said pleasantly. "This sort of disrespect has no place in your bearing, nor does it befit your status or blood."_

_"I did say no," Sirius reminded him stubbornly. It had no effect on Voldemort, who merely carried on, as if he'd never spoken._

_"You might be the heir of a greatly powerful Line, but you still owe respect to your elders, and that is what we shall base our relationship on. I give the orders here - and _you_, my boy, shall obey every last one of them."_

_"Like handing James and his family over to you?" Sirius shot back, inexplicably finding his temper was rising, drowning his fears and quashing his already non-existent sense of self-preservation. He raffled himself up, expression set and a defiant glint in his eye. "I'd rather die."_

_"You _will_, if you don't submit to our... arrangement." Voldemort's voice was suddenly hard as steel, the threat evident in every word. Some of the Death Eaters in the room shivered. Sirius, though, didn't._

_"Piss off."_

Sirius woke with a start, making a thin sheet of frost fall off his fur. It was early in the afternoon, to judge by the reddish gleam of the setting sun all around. He needed to carry on, he knew, but moving was almost impossible - even breathing hurt, and he was cold, so cold...

He let his head fall on his paws, letting out a low whine that went unheard in the strip of forest he'd sheltered in. He was freezing, even though his body felt like it would burn up any second; his paws, worn and torn up by the long stretch he'd gone overnight, were throbbing hotly.

Sometime during the night, he'd left London. It was all a blur, so he couldn't be sure of any details, but he was fairly certain he was somewhere in the countryside ... Er... _around _London.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and he whined weakly. A storm. That was all he needed now.

When the icy drizzle started to fall, he knew he had to move.

_Alfie_. Alfie would help. With some truckloads of luck.

And with some more luck, he'd reach his house by morning.

This thought in mind, he raised a muddy, leaden paw, heaved himself to an unsteady stand. Time to carry on.

* * *

In Wales, James woke with a start in the upstairs parlour, all but leaping up to check if Alcyone was back yet.

She wasn't.

The setting sun gleamed red and orange off the sides of the hill country surrounding Godric's Hollow, but this stunning view was lost on him. Instead, a far bleaker vision obscured James' sight.

_Rain._

_Lightning forking overhead, casting momentary light on a huge black dog limping ahead in the muck._

Well. At least he was still capable of moving. James flopped back onto his bed, frustrated.

_Sirius, where are you?_

Loud knocking interrupted the start to a quite promising brooding session. James leapt up yet again, peered down the window - to see two blue-robed figures standing at his door.

"What the hell?" he muttered, his blood running cold. He knew those wizards; they'd graduated Hogwarts last year - and now they worked for the Ministry.

He also happened to know where their particular allegiances lay.

"Stay here, James. And keep your wand at the ready." James spun around, to glimpse his dad passing him on his way down. "And put your cloak on. I don't want any surprises."

Heart hammering, James summoned it from his room, throwing it on and looking out the window at the goings-on below, even as his dad opened the door and inquired as to the wizards' business.

"Travers, MLE," James heard a familiar voice trail up to him. "We are searching for this boy here-" he saw Travers show his father a picture. "Sirius Black. He went missing last night, and he is wanted for several counts of underage magic..."

James' blood froze. _Missing? Wanted for underage magic? What?_

"... Any information you could provide on him would be greatly appreciated."

* * *

_"Bow. Respectfully."_

_Sirius cocked his head to the side. _

_"I said," Voldemort repeated quite clearly, and something got a hold of Sirius' neck, pushing him down and forward inch by inch. "Bow, Sirius."_

_Sirius fought it, more by sheer will than strength. Voldemort was pretty impressed. Pushed harder. _

_So did Sirius._

_Voldemort didn't bat a lid. _

_"Bellatrix," he said instead. "Do cast an Imperius too, my dear girl."_

_"Gladly, Master. Imperio."_

It was amazing how much like Sirius she was - both shared the same kind of power. Both were born leaders. Both hated being interrupted or bossed around. Both had dreadful tempers once they got down to it. And both, loathe each other though they might, were willing to fight and die for their beliefs. Such was the irony of life, that they'd ended up on opposite sides of the proverbial coin.

It was pretty interesting to the Dark Lord that young Black had managed to shake off the combination of two Imperius curses. It was even more of an achievement after everything his loyal followers had already done - and he understood now why Walburga had insisted on the precautions she had taken.

She had called him an uncontrollable hellion, amongst many other, less flattering epithets. Voldemort now knew there was more to it than that. Few ever dared to go against his direct wishes, few ever managed to refuse to enter his service when there was no hope left for them, and fewer still survived to tell the tale. None of these brave - _stupid _- souls had been barely sixteen.

None had vanished without a trace right under the noses of his most faithful followers, either.

Oh, he was intrigued by Sirius Black, and this curiosity the boy inspired was keeping him from raging about and wanting him killed. No, once Voldemort's curiosity was spiked, he usually wanted the answers to the riddles posed. Yes, he'd wanted Sirius since he was much younger than this, had had many an interesting chat with his father over the matter years ago, when the boy had started to openly defy Orion Black, the greatest and most powerful - and by far, the darkest ever - member of the Wizengamot, who lorded over everything and everyone with an iron fist. It was once said that Orion could single-handedly upend the wizarding world, if he wanted to.

Apparently his son had inherited that trait.

It made Voldemort want him in his ranks more than anything.

"Go see Alphard," he said to Bellatrix, who sneered in disgust. "Your dear uncle is close to him - and it has been a while since we last heard of the old wizard, it won't do if he's drifting towards the Light again- If Walburga is right, and Sirius is as clever as we believe him to be, then he'll have realised by now that his best chance for help is that old wizard. Make sure you find Sirius, and bring him to me, _alive_."

"But _Master_-" she whined, cutting herself off at his dismissive gesture.

"_Alive_, Bella," Voldemort repeated warningly. "I wish to talk to your cousin; and I assume his mother would be most _distressed_ if her eldest died so young. He is rash, and though I commonly would not do so, I shall grant him another chance. I am certain that after thinking things through, he will see that joining the cause is a far better fate than a very slow, painful death. Don't you agree?"

Bellatrix nodded, but her temper was getting the better of her. It was very amusing to watch, how she seemed to be waging an inner battle between trusting her Master and speaking her mind.

"I shall bring him here, Master," she said grudgingly. "And I'll _try _to bring him in alive."

"I trust you will try your best, my dear Bellatrix."

"Yes, Master."

She left, a twitch going on her right temple. Voldemort chuckled. Poor Alphard, he'd be getting the full brunt of _that_.

* * *

TBC.


	2. Part Two: Christmas Eve

**Disclaimer: **HP belongs to JK, not to me. Not making any money out of this, et cetera.

* * *

**Runaway**

**Part Two: Christmas Eve **

He'd kept going, avoiding the roads, scavenging from rubbish bins and breaking into barns here and there to get some rest, though it was hard to come by. He'd run a fever, then nearly drowned trying to cross a half-frozen stream, nearly gotten run over by every other car he passed when crossing motorways... And when he finally managed to find a dry, halfway sheltered place to rest, something in him inevitably awoke, making him start at the smallest noises.

He didn't want to risk turning back to his human form, for fear the Ministry would trace him and lock him up for underage magic; being an unregistered Animagus was bad enough -- he would get one year in Azkaban for that alone, and if the Ministry caught wind of him, they would waste no time in handing him over to the Death Eaters anyway: many of them worked at the Ministry, after all... And thus, he did the only thing he could do under the circumstances: run as far as he could, and hope to find a wizarding area, where he could fool the Trace.

Luck wasn't precisely on Sirius Black's side of late.

He wasn't sure how long had passed, or if he was even going in the right direction most of the time; he knew it was cold, though. And wet.

_Ye Gods_, it was so wet and cold and _windy_ he felt like he'd start losing toes at any minute. His fur, which usually took ages to get damp, was soaked to the skin, matted and caked with frozen bits of mud and congealing blood. Sirius couldn't quite remember what it was like to have a full stomach, or when every movement hadn't come coupled with a twinge or, as happened when he had to trot himself uphill - which happened quite a lot, even if he was supposed to be in the bloody _flatlands_ - searing pain across his back. He was weak, tired, wet and cold, his paws freezing over, which translated into torn pads, which in turn he suspected were infected. Even his nose was numb with cold - it was sheer stubbornness what made him carry on, nothing else.

One morning though, of what day he wasn't sure but it was sunny out, his good luck had mercy on him and decided to pop by for a bit, while he was crossing a small wooded area that was surprisingly... _dry_. And devoid of wind.

Sirius was considering taking a nap - which meant roughly that he'd just flop down on the next suitable spot he found - when he heard the tell-tale cracking sound of people Apparating.

Suddenly wildly alert, he'd tried to hide from what, his mind provided, could only be Death Eaters... Until he sniffed a dish only wizards served, a sort of casserole named after some witch or other he couldn't, and didn't care to, remember.

The smell was heavenly, he noted past his dread.

"Tom, we're going to be late at your mother's, come on already!" he heard a female voice call impatiently. "Your brother's already gone ahead, they'll be waiting for us, and you know how she hates it when we're late." No, Sirius decided, it sounded _nothing_ like a Death Eater.

What kind of self-respecting Carrion Muncher would be called _Tom_, anyway?

Sirius padded closer, the sudden change of his situation giving him the chance to draw on an extra reserve of energy he didn't know he had in him.

His sensitive ears pricked up attentively, eyes that retained human sharpness scanning the house just under fifty yards ahead, its neatly-trimmed bushes and properly defrosted garden path indicating that the dumpy witch in the fuchsia dress robes he was looking at was a _very good_ housekeeper.

That, in his current famished state, translated into a full pantry, and he wasn't above some breaking-in; never had been. Right now, finding this house was a proverbial gift of the heavens.

He crept closer, paws trembling slightly as he advanced, silent as a shadow... and looking roughly like one. Or a wraith. Not that it mattered – a wizard´s house meant he could get away with doing magic, and there were few locks or wards he hadn't learned to pick or break without a wand. Such were the basic needs for survival at home, and for exploring Hogwarts – and whoever claimed it was all useless information and not 'real' magic (Moony) had been dead wrong.

Tom turned out to be a tall and lanky man, who was carrying a large basket, out of which came the most incredible, mouth-watering smells in creation.

He also seemed quite suitably distracted, fumbling with his wand and a pair of spectacles – _Oh_, _good; he's near-sighted _- and trying to balance a thick travelling cloak and a basket of food on one hand while he clumsily put them on his nose.

"Come on already, before everything gets cold," the witch urged impatiently, and inwardly Sirius was urging him to do the same... But Tom was taking his jolly good time, adjusting parcels in his arms and shifting about, mumbling about having forgotten something or other.

Sirius crept closer, until he was level with some of the evergreen bushes lining the path to the house, and slowly ghosted his way past wards and tingling Muggle-repelling charms as he neared the door, which was still ajar.

Then luck decided to give Sirius an added push in the right direction. Tom sneezed, dropping the basket and his wand, which let out a shower of sparks, even as parcels of food flew every which way.

Sirius took a deep breath - and transformed.

Instantly, the world shifted, even as his body went from muddy, achy dog to muddy, achy boy in the space of a couple of seconds. No alarm went off, though a standard security ward did tingle a little, sensing a stranger on the grounds — Sirius focused on feeling like a welcome visitor with all his might, so the ward dismissed him the next moment; it was, as most other wards in these times, set to detect anyone with intent to harm.

Tom and his furiously shrieking wife did not notice, too busy gathering up their stuff to pay attention to anything except the parcels littering the floor. They were entirely too close to the door, though.

Sirius thought it was high time to give them a bit of a hand, otherwise they'd never leave, and sitting in inch-high snow in torn-up, wet pyjamas was starting to become torture, even if not a minute had passed; his paws as a dog might have been covered in cuts, but they were furry and designed to withstand much colder temperatures than human skin.

Sirius held his breath as the witch came dangerously close to the bush he was hiding behind. As a dog he could have pretended he was a stray, but in his human form...

"I can't believe you could be such a _klutz_," she snapped, reaching blindly into the bush. Looking down, Sirius saw a jar of marmalade had rolled quite close to his hand. He flicked his stiff fingers once, and the jar rolled towards the witch's hand, which found the jar, mere inches from him. She didn't notice him at all, too preoccupied with the state of the dishes she'd packed, and Tom was distressed enough mumbling his apologies.

Neither did they notice Sirius casting a disillusionment charm on himself and sneaking into their house, or the obliteration spell he cast to vanish the muddy prints he was leaving behind everywhere.

Adrenalin pumping through his veins and sharpening his every sense, Sirius quickly took in his new - _so very warm and dry and homely_ – surroundings.

There was no other living creature in sight, which was yet another stroke of luck... and though the couple outside had put the fireplace out - very neatly, too - it was warmer in here than he'd been in ages.

Even the stone floor he was standing on felt warm.

The slamming of the front door and twin _cracks _of Tom and his wife Apparating away made Sirius give a start, but the next moment he was all over the pantry like a starving man, clumsy and stiff from all the traipsing around in the countryside.

It did not disappoint. Every type of food he could think of, every dish he had ever _dreamed_ of - it was here, or if it wasn't, there was something equally tasty to make up for it.

Famished, he made a grab for a pie that seemed to have been set aside for when Tom and the Missus returned - and the twinge of guilt he felt right before digging in vanished completely after the first bite.

When, sometime later, Sirius' body decided it was quite high time for him to go look after himself and reminded him of his rather sorry state, he was slumped against the stove, full to the brim and hardly capable of moving. All he could manage in this slow, sluggish state was a drying and warming charm, and he thought that even that much was quite a lot, all circumstances considered.

He dozed off where he sat, not bothering to go look for a more comfortable spot.

.

* * *

It was the unpleasant feeling of something digging into his back what woke him. The kitchen he was in was darkening fast, which meant it was almost late afternoon, and he hurt all over. Something he was used to by now, maybe, but it still had a way to make him miserable in a few seconds' time.

Sirius forced himself to sit up, too long on the run to be disoriented by where he'd woken up at, and wandlessly lit up a handful of flames, which he let float around him, taking a tally of his state, the first since he'd jumped out of his shattered bedroom window on the fourth storey at his mother's.

His assessment was that he was a mess. He looked a mess, and he certainly felt the part too. Never mind the smell of him - but he discarded the idea of a bath. Some cleaning charms would have to do, and even that was a huge improvement, though what really saved the day here were the healing spells he could finally use on himself.

Without a wand he couldn't do all that much, never really having had an interest in healing - what else was Pomfrey around for, anyway? - and his palms were as torn up and as swollen as his paws had been earlier, making the job all the harder.

However, some efforts later, he'd managed to improve his situation rather dramatically, and found things weren't half as bad anymore.

He could move again, was no longer muddy, or wet, or cold... The gashes on his back and side were closing and no longer oozing _anything_, and though he still felt very sore and stiff, it was loads better than before.

He didn't really want to leave this cosy house, but he knew he couldn't stay; he _was_ trespassing, and though he couldn't remember ever being in worse need, stealing wasn't really on his agenda. Or rather, stealing anything that wasn't utterly necessary - he'd nicked some of Tom's clothes, which were rather large for him, but warm and comforting all the same. He would probably help himself to some more food as well.

Before getting to that, though, he needed to find out where he was, and see if he could perhaps get a message through to James to warn him. Maybe even get one through to Alfie-

_No._

It felt wrong to send word to Alfie, though he wished more than anything to jump into the Floo and go to his uncle's house. It would be so... quick, so easy.

_Too easy._

What if they suspected Alfie would help him? What if the Munchers were there already? He'd be flooing into a trap. What if Uncle Alfie didn't want him there? What if-

Sirius steered sharply away from these thoughts, focusing on something else that had been on the forefront of his mind ever since he heard of Voldemort's plans.

James.

Him, he _needed _to warn, no matter what; he knew James was alright, but worried; Sirius had tried his hardest to block him out, something he'd done every time he went home; he didn't reckon James had ever noticed, which in turn meant he didn't know how to overcome a block of this sort either.

Then again, James had an enviable home life; going home, for him, was a _real _holiday; his parents adored him, and all he had to look forward to were trips abroad and boatloads of fun. For Sirius, going home had always meant going back to a hellhole, and James didn't need any part in that; he didn't need to know what it was like, did he. Nobody needed that; it was bad enough living through it without dragging his best mate down every step of that road too. So Sirius had taught himself to use Occlumency to block James out whenever things got nasty for him. And whenever he was at home, things were particularly nasty all the time. And now, they had gotten worse than ever.

Still, he vividly remembered what the Munchers had been planning to do.

He didn't reckon the plan had changed - they still needed him to get to the Potters; though it was known they lived in Godric's Hall, few Death Eaters possessed the skill needed to get through their wards, and none would be welcomed on the other side - and at the moment, he reckoned the Polyjuice Potion wasn't finished brewing yet; they'd said something about Boxing Day at the earliest, though New Year's Eve was more likely. Whichever the case, it would be ready _soon_, and Sirius had no idea when he'd get another chance to send a warning before he got to Alfie's.

Provided he ever got to Alfie's at all.

He started looking for Floo Powder, the flames he'd conjured up dancing overhead as he limped around the front room of the house. A Calendar flashed at him as he passed the entrance parlour, and the clock on the mantelpiece was announcing that it was half three in the afternoon. Sirius stared at it.

_Christmas Eve._

He'd been on the run for... four days now, ever since the Yule. It had felt so much longer than that.

Something caught his eye next, wiping any other thoughts away at once.

A copy of today's _Daily Prophet_ had a note on the front cover, sandwiched between two attacks on Muggle-born families and an Auror's home: '_Hogwarts Student Still Missing - Sirius Black Given Up for Dead_', he read, right over a picture of him, taken sometime the previous year, after they'd kicked Ravenclaw's arse and won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. Sirius watched his picture self waving the Cup around for a moment, a feeling of nostalgia welling up inside, unbidden, but not unexpected; it seemed as though he were looking at a picture of himself in another life, as if something that made him be _himself_ had died, just like the paper said.

_It was a hell of a match, that one..._

His eyes fell on the headline again, and he snorted bitterly. They were wrong. He _wasn't_ dead, and wouldn't go so easily.

_Dead, eh? Don't you just wish I were?_

.

* * *

"Dead?" Coop Potter sounded as heartbroken as his wife felt. The newspaper he held in his hands was shaking, making a rustling sound which was only broken by Betty's sobs.

"I only just read," she whispered, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth, her eyes not leaving the paper. Coop read the headline, and his voice started to shake as much as his hands.

"Will you tell him?" Betty asked in a tiny voice. There was a hushed silence in the Potters' kitchen; not telling James wasn't in either of his parents' minds; rather, she was asking her husband to do it, because, "I'd just break down, I'd make it all the worse, and you know how he's been already—"

"I'll do it," Coop said, nodding, but he too was sniffling and looked incapable of raising his voice above a whisper. The elderly couple remained silent for a few moments, staring at the picture Sirius grinning back at them and waving the Quidditch Cup around. "It's just so hard to believe..." Betty nodded, giving her husband's hand a squeeze. They'd loved him as a son, and now he had been taken from them.

"What happened? What's hard to believe?"

Betty and Coop turned away from the paper and to face James, who was framed in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in his parents' teary expressions.

"No," he told them, warningly, before either could say anything; in the end, neither of them did. He strode forward, yanking the paper from his gobsmacked father's hands, eyes flying across the text, paling the further he read. "Nope," he repeated firmly, shaking his head. "This is all wrong. You'd think they'd get one thing right at least, but there you have it—it's worse than Skeeter's rubbish yesterday about Sirius going Dark."

"Sweetie, I-" Betty started gently, but cut herself off as he glared at her.

"Don't you get it, Mum?" James snapped furiously, taking the paper and throwing it on the floor. Betty gasped, never had he talked to her in such a manner. "He's not dead!" James shook his head again, took a deep breath, lowered his voice to a very civil tone that told them just how distressed he was, trying to convince himself of what he was claiming to be a fact. "He can't be—He just _can't_. Can't be dead. No. I won't have it. You shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers."

"I am sorry, son, but..."

"He _can't be dead_, Dad. Not like this. I'd have known—and I know – I _know _he's not dead, alright?" James was almost daring him to contradict, glaring at his father as if his opinion would change the terrible news they had just received. Coop took a deep breath, but it did little to steady his voice.

"It's not that I don't believe _you_, son," he said gently, ignoring James' wordless mouthing. "It's just that it's been so long, and he hasn't been found by the Aurors—"

"THAT DOESN'T MEAN HE'S _DEAD_! It's _SIRIUS_, not just _anyone_!" James shouted. "Have some faith at least—If not in the Aurors, then in _him_! That's the least you owe him!" He stormed out of the kitchen, skidding to a halt by the door and turning to point a warning finger at his parents, who stared at him with a mixture of pity and terrible sadness, yet not a shred of hope.

"_Not_. Dead." James glowered at them. "Got it? That's the last time I'm going to tell you. Just you wait. You'll see soon enough." That said, he turned on his heel and stomped upstairs to his bedroom.

.

* * *

The article started off with a tragic story - of a distressed, heartbroken mother, a desolate brother, and a terribly saddened, pureblood family, and then went on about him as though he'd been a poor moron of the best sort, stressing that nobody could believe the devastating and abrupt loss of 'such a promising young life'.

Sirius couldn't believe the amount of rubbish he was reading.

They were sure he was dead now, and the Aurors were only hoping to be able to '_find and return the body to the devastated family_'. Hoping that Voldemort would be kind enough to return his corpse.

It was _ridiculous_.

"Whatever," Sirius heard himself mutter, surprised at how hoarse his voice was coming out. He tossed the paper aside, shaking his head. He knew what this meant, why he was being given up for dead: When the Death Eaters found him, they would kill him.

_Thanks for the heads-up._

"Now to what really matters..."

It was then that loud knocking made him give a start - and looking through the window, he saw a familiar feathery face pecking at the sill.

"_Al_?" he wondered aloud, frowning.

Sirius hobbled closer, a handful of spells at the tip of his tongue, though none ever made it out: It was James' owl alright, looking as windswept and half-frozen as Sirius had been himself. Though part of him was glad because that meant that he didn't need to carry on looking for Floo Powder, he was well acquainted with magical tracking means, and his first thought was that Al could be intercepted.

And yet - It was a message. A message from _James_. It meant contact with the one person he'd been trying to avoid thinking about, the person he missed most, it meant... He wasn't sure what it meant, exactly, but it made his insides turn most unpleasantly, as opposed to the initial thrill he'd felt in his gut.

Anxious all of a sudden, he opened the window anyhow, fingers clumsily fumbling with the string as he untied the scroll from the owl's leg.

Leaving Alcyone to help herself to some left-over pie, he turned to read it, throat tied into knots before he'd even unrolled it.

The message was short, dated a couple of days earlier.

_Send word whenever you get this._

Hands trembling, Sirius took a quill and ink from the counter, turning the scroll around. All he could think of, was what the Great Bastarding Sodhead wanted to do to James and his family. This chance to get a message through so much sooner than he'd thought was as unexpected as it was welcome.

_Great Sod,_ Sirius scribbled, his hand stiff and cramped up, making his writing almost impossible to read. James would manage, though. He always did, and Sirius was doing his best here. _Don't write, not coming. Launcelot dead. Munchers have tats, eat snakes with the left. Hit home at G.H. Be sensitive, Prongs, look out for my juicy dance by the fireplace or outside, it can be dominated too._

It was almost a telegram, the code was pathetically lousy, but there was no time for niceties or proper form, or, Merlin forbid, rubbing his already frayed brain cells together to come up with something that could be termed _clever_. He didn't want Alcyone intercepted - didn't want to help make any of what Voldemort had promised to do come true. And if there was one thing he knew about the Sodhead, was that he never made idle promises. Threats. Same thing.

Chapped lips pressed tightly together, Sirius struggled with the string to tie the scroll to the owl's leg, opening the window again to let it fly out.

Several things happened then in quick succession: Sirius disillusioned Alcyone, who took to the skies at once, hooting her farewell at him. Sirius' luck decided it had been around for entirely too long and left, not bothering to hoot anything at all. And, most noticeably, a sharp tingle of Dark Magic made Sirius freeze mid-movement.

Not a second later, the kitchen exploded.

"Get him!" a voice screeched, even as Sirius, who'd been knocked off his feet by the blast, scrambled to regain his bearings, dodged a burning beam that came crashing down by mere inches and rolled out of the way of whichever spells that wouldn't be long in coming, coughing and gasping for air. "By the window, over there!"

He was covered in dust, debris, and bits of glass, and his disillusionment charm only helped so much now. Cursing, he re-cast it, pressing himself against the half-destroyed, burning counter as figures as familiar as his own friends started casting detection spells.

_Oh, shite..._

"Where are you, little cousin?"

The Munchers had tracked him down.

.

* * *

Christmas cheer had been wiped from the Potters' for days, ever since the MLE had dropped by, asking about details on Sirius' whereabouts, bringing the news that he was officially considered missing.

This morning's Prophet, which had covered Sirius' story rather extensively for some reason, hadn't helped matters one jot. If the air at Godric's Hall had been mournful before, it just became worse after the morning edition was dropped on the breakfast table.

Sirius was dead, it claimed. Though James knew this wasn't true, it still hit him hard; there was nothing else to prove he was right, whereas there was extensive proof that said he _wasn't_. Condolences kept flying in, from school friends and acquaintances. Even Madam Rosmerta sent hers, along with a large parcel of James' favourite comfort foods, which he'd refused to touch.

Three days was the longest that the Ministry spared Aurors to search for anyone, though for some reason they had been searching for Sirius for four now, perhaps because of the family he belonged to. And yet, once someone went missing, after three days, they weren't expected to still be alive; they were just looking to recover Sirius' body by now.

His _body_. James scrubbed his hands over his face, heaving a sigh. He couldn't just lap the story up, not while he knew Sirius was alive—but clinging to hope was getting harder by the minute.

Remus didn't have a clue yet - The full moon had been on the day Sirius disappeared. It had been a bad one, according to Remus' mum - without his mates to keep him company, he'd gone wild - and he'd been out of it for most of the last few days.

She wouldn't tell him, either. Not until later. Whenever that was.

James couldn't object to that.

Peter had already been in touch, but even the long firecall had not made James' mood improve, quite the opposite. Peter lived near Cornwall, though, maybe Sirius was headed there...?

James heaved a frustrated sigh, leaning against the backrest of a settee, clutching the sides without realising it, looking at the Christmas decorations all around him.

It all felt... _wrong_.

How could _anyone _celebrate Christmas like this? Hell, how could anyone celebrate _anything _like this?

James hadn't wondered, and he hadn't moved from his spot by the window in the upstairs parlour either. Even when his parents had managed to coax him downstairs to eat, he had kept staring out of the nearest window, as if Alcyone wouldn't return if he looked away for five minutes.

James' thoughts weren't dwelling on whether or not Sirius was dead. He _wasn't_, that was one thing he was sure of; it was quite possibly the only thing he was certain of right now.

Why then hadn't Alcyone returned? And why, if he'd always managed to tell before, didn't he have the faintest clue as to where Sirius could be now?

_A cry rent the air, even as a tidy, well-stocked kitchen blew up in a cloud of flame and dust. _

_  
Confusion. Burning. Pain._

_  
Glimpses of a half-destroyed kitchen as Sirius scrambled aside, narrowly missing a burning beam that collapsed in the middle of the room while trying to gather his thoughts, casting a disillusionment charm- _

_  
"Where are you, little cousin?"_

Fear flared up, just like the flames he was seeing in his mind's eye.

"Sirius." James whispered, paling. He was in danger, and he was in danger _right this minute_.

.

* * *

"_Oh, h__ere you are_, Sirius." The drawl and would-be cordial tone were expected, the sudden dread they caused, though, was new to him. "You've made many of us go through a lot of trouble, and that during the holidays." Lucius Malfoy shook his head, white teeth gleaming in the firelight as he pointed his wand straight at Sirius' nose. "That is very inconsiderate of you."

It was perhaps, a good thing he was mostly invisible, because Lucius completely missed the way every last drop of blood had drained from Sirius' face.

"He'll make a very good present for our Lord, won't he?" Cissy asked, giggling in a way that was entirely too stupid for a Sevent-year girl.

"Can we just go now?" Flint muttered in annoyance. Not one year out of Hogwarts, and he was already wanted for several counts of murder; such was the way of the world at the time. Not that Sirius had time to contemplate that thought. "Grab the damn kid already," Flint added, and Lucius, usually so loath to obey anyone's orders, reached out to grab him-

Sirius reacted out of pure instinct. His right fist shot forward, unseen by all until Lucius' nose broke with a sick sort of crunch, head snapping back with the force of the blow.

Narcissa gave a startled yelp, Flint cursed, and Malfoy-

Malfoy shrieked like an enraged girl.

Sirius had precious little time to waste, even less chances at escaping this time around - but he tried nonetheless, plunging into the still burning front room, in the hopes to lose them amidst the smoke. His – still bare – feet seared at the contact with burning debris, but he didn't stop.

"Get back here!"

As if he'd listen.

A flick of his wrist made some of the caved-in ceiling come alive, an added gesture with his fingers making the flames shoot up man-high as the blocks and beams of what had once been a kitchen sped towards the Death Eaters.

Shrieks and cursing was all he heard, but Sirius didn't stop to look. Once more he jumped out the nearest window, rolling as he hit the ground, welcoming the icy wind and snow, which stopped the burning at once.

He had barely raffled himself up, when someone tackled him from behind, making him topple over yet again.

Crabbe.

Or maybe Goyle, they were equally dim... and large.

"I got him, Lucius!" the young man bellowed, as Sirius struggled frantically to get free. Crabbe just redoubled his grip on him. Sirius cried out, ribs cracking under the vice-like grip.

"B'ing 'im 'ere!" Lucius shouted furiously, and Crabbe complied at once.

"Let go," Sirius demanded at a wheeze, still struggling to get free, frantically thinking of a way out of this new fix.

Bella was strolling out of the still flaming, destroyed house like there was nothing wrong with the world, and Cissy came out right after. Though she hadn't joined up with the Death Eaters yet, she'd do so as soon as she left school at the end of this year, Sirius was certain. She was as good as one of them already - and so was her boyfriend, Lucius Malfoy.

Who sported a bleeding nose, Sirius noted absently with something akin to wild satisfaction.

"You'll bay fod dis," Lucius said, and despite the situation, Sirius snorted. Once again, his overlarge mouth opened, except the inner Sirius was too tired of this game to try and prevent him from it.

"_You_ should 'bay fod dis'," Sirius mimicked him at a wheeze. "Nose jobs cost a fortune these days-_ungh_." The blow hit him on the side of the head, leaving his ears ringing and the world spinning madly.

"Restrain him," Lucius snapped, even as he and the girls trained their wands on Sirius. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw other shadowy figures approaching—

This was getting beyond ugly.

Heart hammering in his throat and hardly able to breathe, Sirius knew he was lost. Only a miracle could save him, and those were very rare of late...

He heard an incantation being said, saw ropes snake out of a wand and start curling around him- if only he could clear his head—

Sirius didn't need to, as it turned out; instinct was as valid as a well thought-out plan these days, and he'd take whatever chance he could get. As soon as he felt the ropes start snaking around his arms, he transfigured them into real snakes, which went for Crabbe's face at once. The next second, he had landed on the frozen ground and started scrambling away, Crabbe's screams and flails causing enough of a commotion to allow for him to escape.

Air burning as it filled his lungs and black specks swimming before his eyes, Sirius dodged and rolled from entirely too many spells to get away from. Stunners and Hammer Hexes cut the air thickly, as well as Shocking Spells, Imperius Curses, Cruciatus Curses, Slashing Curses... Even a Jelly-Legs Jinx flew past his nose.

He couldn't dodge them all, even if he could recognise most as they were cast. Flattening himself against the ground to avoid a Stunning Spell, he was propelled forward by a Hammer Hex which drew all air from his lungs yet again, and felt something burning hot slice through his right arm a split second later. Still, he didn't stop, throwing himself over a hedge—

Which blew up into tiny pieces immediately after.

By then, Sirius had managed to transform, and stopped running, suddenly capable of smelling the burning and anger and mad rage that filled the air. Instead, he ducked as low as he could, making for a nearby cluster of bushes; he'd never manage to get far in this state.

"Where did he go?!" echoed in his ears, and though any other time he'd have had a quip or three to respond, this time Sirius only slunk back into the shadows.

He could already hear the tracking spells being cast, and seconds later, Bella's furious shriek of rage as they brought back nothing.

Once more, Sirius had vanished right under their noses.

Shaking and now bleeding freely from his shoulder and front leg, Sirius put all four paws to good use, disappearing in a small nearby thicket. All around him, there were cracks of Death Eaters Disapparating, shouts of them arguing amongst themselves about where he could be, searching for him, casting all sorts of spells – And, eventually, giving up.

The Dark Mark shimmered ghostly green in the sky, around the ruins of Tom's house as the first Ministry officials arrived, searching the remains of the place for survivors. They didn't expect to find anyone, though, and didn't bother looking too hard.

From under a bush a few handfuls of yards away, Sirius lay panting, his fur coated with a small layer of the snow that had started falling. He'd escaped again, and mostly in one piece, too.

In that aspect at least, his good luck was still with him.

.

* * *

"Won't you come down for dinner?" James' father called up the stairs at Godric's Hall.

"I'm not hungry," James called back automatically, briefly wondering how mealtimes seemed to flit by, even when time was definitely dragging its arse.

The footsteps coming up the stairs went ignored, but the _Daily Prophet_ James' dad picked up and then tossed on the coffee table again was harder to overlook.

"Listen son," Coop Potter said heavily, sitting down next to him on the sofa. "You can't keep missing meals like this. I know you're worried. We all are," he added, holding up a hand to stop James before he could even start protesting. "I'm not saying he's dead. I believe you... I'll go to the Ministry again tomorrow, and I'll try and talk to his mother. Maybe there is some news that hasn't been published in the papers."

"Thanks, Dad," James mumbled, eyes drifting towards the window once more.

Copernillius Potter watched his son in silence for a moment. He'd never been so downcast, had perhaps never had a reason to, until now. Sure, they'd all known Sirius' family was of the darkest sort, but they had overlooked it, forgotten about it. It was easy to do when faced with the hyperactive, cheerful boy who had become James' best-ever friend; there was no Darkness in Sirius Black, anyone who'd ever met him for longer than five minutes could attest to that.

And yet, he had been given up for dead, after having vanished from home. There were rumours, about the Dark Lord having killed him, and the reasons for this ranged from the probable - because Sirius had refused him - to the plausible - because Sirius had snubbed him - to the most incredible of tales - that he had left to join up with the Dark Side, or that he'd turned tail and fled after being caught Muggle-baiting. Most of these harebrained stories had been cooked up by Rita Skeeter, a junior correspondent for the _Prophet_, who was making the situation all the harder on those involved.

Nevertheless, no matter how tall the tales, they'd made the dent in James' mood grow ever larger. Made the fact that Alcyone hadn't returned for days after having been ordered to find Sirius no matter what, all the harder to bear.

"Your mum's leaving you some food with the elves," Coop said as the silence stretched between them, heavy and hopeless. "You should at least try to eat something, and get some rest. You'll see, things will look up in the morning."

"Yes Dad." James didn't mean it, eyes now fixed on the picture of Sirius on the _Prophet's _front page, which he himself had provided. Coop left, defeated and every bit as worried as his son, unable to think of anything to say or do to make him feel better. Empty hopes were just that, and he had never been one to feed those to anyone, much less his own son.

Left alone, James didn't bother moving. His mind was still on Sirius, the attack earlier - because that's what it had been - had left him deeply rattled. There had been no more flashes of Sirius since, only the occasional sense of pain, of darkness, of being... lost.

_But lost where?_

It was almost as if Sirius didn't _want_ to be found, or as if something were blocking a link they had nurtured and strengthened to the point of near-complete empathy. He _always _knew what was up with Sirius, and Sirius _always _knew what was up with him.

_Always_.

Until now.

It bothered James more than anything. What did this mean, if Sirius didn't want to be found?

.

* * *

It had been, on the whole, one of his worse ideas, but he'd found it very necessary; he'd been wet and cold and starving for days now, and regret though he might his choice of sneaking into that house now, at the time it had been a life-saver.

Now though, it was just one more reason to be pretty hopeless at the state of things; much as he'd needed to look after himself, to get dry and warm and procure some food to put into his stomach and some warmer clothes on his back, not a handful of hours later, Sirius was back on square one. Or not quite there; he wasn't cold, which was a definite improvement. That warming charm had been one of his better ideas.

For as long as it held, it would make his life less of a royal mess than it had amounted to.

Night had fallen, and he had no way of telling the time. His sense of direction seemed to have left him along with his luck, because he had no idea where he was, and the cut along his arm hadn't stopped bleeding, added to the ones he had already healed with his half-arsed spells, they were making every movement hellish.

_At least I got a message throug__h to James_, he thought, but the feeling of relief faded fast in the face of his next thought._ If they didn't get Al too._

Alphard lived near a place called Pict's Cross, but without anything to indicate where he was, Sirius had no way of telling whether he was getting closer or was hopelessly lost.

Still he plodded on in the darkness, his puffing breathing the only sound in the silence, until, guided by scents and sounds, he reached a small town, which glowed warm and welcoming in the complete darkness.

From most of these houses poured music and warm light, which was perhaps the reason he limped along gardens and streets; he wasn't fool enough to believe that just because he was trudging along Muggle streets he'd be safe, but the lights, the music, the smells of food and people talking and laughing _were_ heartening.

Sirius was ready to collapse where he stood, when he reached a small roundabout. The post office and church looked familiar - as did the huge Christmas tree that adorned the centre of the small elevation.

Suddenly, he realised he knew where he was.

.

* * *

_"We interrupt our Christmas Special for a breaking broadcast. Earlier today, the house of Tom and Janine Stanton near Four Oaks, in Newent, Gloucestershire, was attacked by Death Eaters. This makes the toll rise to sixty attacks in the past month alone."_

James' head snapped up from where he had been resting it on his arms, nearly upending the bowl of Christmas pudding he had been instructed to help whip up (and, of course, hadn't).

His father had been busy talking to people all afternoon, trying to figure out Sirius' whereabouts, as he had since the 22nd of December, when they'd gotten the news that Sirius had gone missing.

_"...It was a stroke of luck that Tom and his wife Janine had left to celebrate the holiday at Mrs. Laurelia Stanton's, and aside from the destruction of the house, there was no loss of life during this attack, which has boggled Aurors and Officers alike. The Stantons, a well-known pureblood family..."_ James stopped listening, rushing out of the kitchen to get a map, almost bowling one of the elves over in the process.

_Gloucestershire? Could it be...?_

That was close to where Sirius' uncle Alphard lived.

"Dad, have you been in touch with Sirius' uncle Alphard?" James shouted, interrupting a chat the elderly wizard was having with - who cared who it was, really? His dad excused himself, pulling his head out of the fireplace.

"He's been out of reach for over a week," Coop answered. He and Alphard were old school friends. "Took a sabbatical; nobody even knows if he's in the country..."

Moments later, they were both poring over James' map. If Sirius was indeed headed for Pict's Cross and Alphard was gone... He'd need every ounce of help he could get.

.

* * *

"He escaped _again_?" Voldemort's tone was one of utter disbelief. Shivering and cowed, Lucius and his six companions nodded.

"We _had him_, Master," Bellatrix muttered furiously. "He simply... vanished."

"I thought he was without a wand?" Voldemort retorted, anger flashing in his red eyes.

"He is – At least I think so," said Bella, who had no reason to fear her Lord, or so she seemed to believe. "What I don't understand is why his Trace hasn't alerted us--"

"I did not ask for your speculations," snapped Voldemort, making her flinch back with a mumbled apology, which he waved away impatiently. "If he apparated away, then that means he has a wand, or are you telling me he can do magic without?" Seven heads shook as one. "That's what I thought. He will be headed to the Potters, I am sure, or Alphard's," the Dark Lord mused aloud. "He isn't even that far away-- Intercept every one of Alphard's and the Potters' owls, watch their every move. If they are in touch with him then I want to be the first to know. And Lucius, get that nose of yours fixed. Your loud breathing is giving me a headache – While you're at it, make a list of every magical household in the area." To everyone's surprise, the Dark Lord smiled, nodding to himself. "We'll see where he's going soon enough. If he is as clever as I think he is, and is _not_ headed for Godric's Hollow, we shall find out."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Go, then. And keep me informed of every new development as you find it—at this rate, I shall have to fetch him myself."

* * *

TBC.


	3. Part Three: Happy Christmas, Padfoot

**Disclaimer: **The Harry Potter universe isn't mine., it's JK's and the Sunshine Band's. Or whoever happens to be her associate. I just borrowed her universe and twisted it a little more.

* * *

**Runaway**

**Part Three: Happy Christmas, Padfoot**

"_AL'S BACK_!" James' voice tore through the graveyard silence Godric's Hall had been plunged into like a bomb alarm.

Or a bomb, for all the sudden exaltation it caused.

After hours of poring over one of Coop's maps the day before and trying to reach the wizarding families in the area, to alert them in case they saw Sirius at all, and even longer hours spent casting every tracing and tracking spell they knew without success, the Potters had given up any hope Sirius had even been near the Stantons' house.

They'd had a very quiet Christmas brunch, and these were the first words James uttered since his mumbled 'morning' hours earlier. He hadn't opened any of his presents, none of them had; their heart just wasn't in the celebration they usually loved so much. Instead, all three Potters had spent their time mourning and fretting, and the traditional Christmas foods Betty made every year had gone largely ignored.

She'd carried on cooking, though – it helped her keep her mind off things, or so she claimed. Nobody commented on the fact that her teary-eyed face was impossible to overlook despite the excellent meals she prepared; her face reflected what they were all feeling, and James did not have the heart to remind her that Sirius _wasn't_ dead. What good would come of it, anyway? His parents had found it hard to so much as carry on pretending that they held any hope Sirius was alive, and James himself had all the more trouble clinging to hope as the hours ticked by.

This hadn't been made any easier by the continued string of condolences he kept receiving. Owls were coming and going non-stop, dropping off parcels and letters, most of which had a tell-tale black ribbon on them, and the fireplace in James' room kept ringing its bells, indicating someone was calling. It was torture for him; Every firecall, every owl fluttering around outside made him jump up, thinking, hoping that maybe— _maybe _—this time it was Sirius.

There was no sign of him at all, however, and every time James shuffled away from the fireplace all the more dejectedly, his heart sinking yet another notch.

Worst of all had been the arrival of his best friends' Christmas presents that very morning. Sirius' was prominent amongst them, heavier than the rest and wrapped in a large red box with little prancing deer on it and a bow singing heavily-edited carols (Sirius' specialty), delivered by a black owl very much like Sirius' own Launcelot. It had made James' hopes rise for a few seconds, until he recognised the bird as a school owl and felt his mood drop below ground level.

Sirius had been wanted at home for Christmas once before, and he'd left his presents at school to be delivered by the Hogwarts owls then too, in case he didn't manage to send them off in time; no matter how things were at his parents', he'd made sure things happened even without him around. Clearly, this time had been no different.

James hadn't touched his present, refusing to believe the hand-charmed card that came with it would be the last thing he ever received from his best mate. However, none of that managed to keep him from glancing at it every so often, as if it would answer the one question he was dying to hear the answer to.

To top it off, not an hour earlier, Sirius' present, which James had sent off the night before just in the off-chance it did reach him, had returned rather battered and torn... and unopened, delivered by an equally battered-looking owl that had refused to take any more letters anywhere. The lumpy box now sat by the tree on Sirius' pile next to his parents' presents and cards, and it was the worst by far to look at; it told James he couldn't really hope for much right now.

In between fire-calls – during which he'd had to watch a handful of girls burst into tears over Sirius' death, learned that Peter's present to Sirius had also returned unopened, and that the Aurors would be stopping the search for him in the afternoon – he had been pacing, cursing at mid-voice, staring out the window, trying – and failing – to get a reading on Sirius... and along the way, he had also lost all hope for the first time in days.

Until now.

Things had changed dramatically over the past few seconds.

James had stared _through_ Al for a handful of minutes, wondering where the insistent pecking and hooting was coming from, until it hit him; it wasn't the first time Sirius had disillusioned an owl to get a message through to him, after all.

That fact alone made James' hopes soar.

An icy gust blew into the front room as he opened the window wide, even as his parents hurried in from the kitchen. Christmas ornaments went flying and the tree swayed ominously, but nobody paid it any mind. All eyes were fixed on the see-through owl James was holding.

"Hold still, Al..." James undid the disillusionment charm even as the window slammed shut, thrilled as he recognised Sirius' magic behind it, while his parents looked at each other, half disbelieving, half willing to hope the whole world was wrong and Sirius was, indeed, alright. Just the fact that Alcyone was disillusioned meant... Well, it meant Sirius was alive at least, and capable of doing magic.

That _had _to be good news, right?

"Dear Lord, what happened to her?" asked Betty, once the bird came into full view. Al's usually sleek and well-groomed coat was singed and there were bits of rubble amidst her feathers, which came loose as she hooted feebly and fluttered to Coop's arms, as she always did when she felt under the weather.

James stared at her for a moment, throat closing over and excitement fading fast at the bedraggled sight of his owl, as the reality of what was going on sank in once more.

"I told you he was in trouble," he informed his parents at a mutter, unrolling the scroll, which turned out to be the same one he'd sent off days before.

It was blank, but rolled up the other way, so... He cast a counter-spell to Sirius' concealment charm. Lines and smudges of dirt started snaking across the parchment, written in a blotchy, shaky, barely legible scrawl. He had to squint to make out the words, which made his hopes drop again.

_Great Sod,_

_Don't write, not coming. Launcelot dead. Munchers have tats, eat snakes with the left. Hit home at G.H. Be sensitive, Prongs, look out for my juicy dance by the fireplace or outside, it can be dominated too._

"Wha...?" James stared at the message, which didn't only look like Sirius had tried to write it in dog form... It made no sense at first sight, and contrary to what most people seemed to think, this wasn't the norm with his best mate.

"What is it, son?"

"What does it say?"

"It... I don't know, it doesn't make any sense," James mumbled. "It... it's some sort of... Hang on."

Betty and Coop were already reading over James' shoulder. Or at least, trying to.

"You can _read_ that?"

"Are you sure it's his?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. He says..." James frowned, fighting a growing lump in his throat. "Well, he says Voldemort is after him. He calls him the Great Sodhead, and..." Coop snorted, but went completely ignored. "And... He says not to write. That he's not coming here... And that his owl's dead..."

"Sweet Merlin," breathed Betty, while Coop added, "He says all of that in that tiny scrap of parchment?" James forced himself not to dwell on either of their comments, clinging to the one thing he knew for sure -- Sirius was neither dead nor caught.

_Yet._

"Yeah," he whispered anyway. "And... and, um. He says... Says the Death Eaters... have... cats? Huh." He squinted at the parchment some more. "No, it's 'tats'...? Tats, yeah."

"They have _what_?"

"Tats. Tattoos." James frowned. That was new. "Eat snakes? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You mean, like... on the Dark Mark? You know, the skull has a snake coming out of its mouth."

"Yeah, that's it!" James looked at his mother, impressed. Betty just shrugged. "They've got to have a tattoo of the Dark Mark, or a snake, on their left arm, or leg, or left _something_. That's got to be it."

"How would he know _that_?"

"Do you really want to find out, honey?"

James ignored his parents, busy staring at the next sentence.

"And he says... _Oh bugger_." All colour drained from his face. "They are planning an attack."

"Where does it say _that_?"

"Attack? Where?"

"When?" Al fluttered away as Betty and Coop came even closer, looming over James' shoulder, but still unable to make anything out of the scribbles.

"Hit home at G.H.," James breathed. "Godric's Hall. Merlin, that's here! That's _us_! 'Be sensitive'. Be _sensitive_." James now sounded rather crazed, thinking hard. "We have to... to tweak the wards – _Oh_."

Suddenly everything made a terrible sort of sense.

He turned to look at his parents, aghast. They looked back at him, worried and terribly confused, valiantly trying to keep up with him all the same.

"They... they're using Polyjuice to turn into him – 'my juicy dance', that's what it's got to be. 'Look out for my juicy dance by the fireplace or outside.' That's what it's got to be, Dad!"

"The Death Eaters are polyjuicing themselves into _Sirius_?" His dad sounded incredulous. "How would that help them in any way?"

"We _did_ put up wards that let him in, though, honey." Despite it all, Betty sounded more centred and reasonable than either of the others. "And they might have found out, seeing as Sirius has been here before, and we would let him in without a question... We'd welcome him with open arms."

James sank into a chair. He'd finished dissecting Sirius' message.

"So that's why he's on the run – they're trying to cast the Imperius Curse on him to do that," he mumbled. "'Watch my juicy dance by the fire or outside, it can be dominated too'. It means... I think it means they want to get him to break the wards and to us, or to use polyjuice... Probably if the Imperius doesn't work."

"Good gracious..." James' mum sat down next to him. "They would do that? Aren't they his... his _family_?"

James snorted without much humour, nodding.

"His mum usually puts him under the curse to get him to do any number of things," he said hollowly. "Mostly to get him to behave at parties, or to tidy up his room. Or just for fun."

"I didn't know..."

"It's not the sort of thing he likes to talk about," James said impatiently, still staring at the scroll. "He can throw it off, though... Or at least, he's done it a few times." He ignored his dad's raised eyebrows. Impressive though the feat may be, James had other things to worry about at the moment. "But if Voldemort is after him, then... He wants him to get to us... He's trying to get Sirius..." He swallowed dryly, looking completely drained. "That's what I saw."

"What did you see?"

"The Death Eaters... Sirius and I have this, this... I don't know how to explain. We have this link of sorts, and... He's been blocking it," James told them, and it was impossible to hide the reproach in his tone; he didn't like that part of the arrangement at all. "But I've been getting bits and pieces of what's going on, it's usually not much because he blocks me out right away, but... I saw Death Eaters attacking him, a few times."

"When?"

"Yesterday around four, that... that was the last time I saw anything." James whispered, and then took a deep breath.

"Is he--"

"Oh, he's alive," James said at once, ruffling his hair, as he always did when he was nervous or trying to figure something out. "But he's hurt, and... and he's not coming here, not if he's afraid they'll get to us through him—" He shook his head. "We need to find him, Dad."

"How can we do that?" It was a question they'd all asked hundreds of times before over the past few days. Never with this sort of determination, though. His parents were finally starting to see there were solid reasons for James' firm conviction that Sirius was alive, starting to realise there was more to this than what met the eye, but most importantly, they were starting to believe him at last, starting to _hope_.

"I don't know," James admitted, staring into the flames dancing in the grate for a moment, before getting up and walking to the fireplace. "We need to seal these off. Ward them, at the very least."

"But James, what if he tries to—" Betty started, alarmed.

"He won't come over the Floo, not if he believes it will put us in danger. He's trying to help us stay safe," Coop said heavily, catching on to what James meant. "I'll seal the fireplaces, and re-set the wards, so nobody who looks like him can come through, and then... We'll look for him."

.

* * *

He'd spent the night in a garden shed someone had accidentally left open, frightening a handful of rats out of their wits when he stumbled inside, dripping wet and barely able to walk. He couldn't – nor did he care to – remember what had happened from the moment he'd pawed the door closed, but he must have fallen asleep at some point; it wasn't until he heard some children having a snowball fight outside that he so much as stirred.

It had been a strange sight, looking in on Muggle kids playing in the snow without a care in the world. Not that he had much of a mind for any sort of thoughts beyond that simple fact. He'd watched them in a detached sort of daze until a female voice called them back inside and then he'd left, making his slow way towards Alfie's.

He followed brightly-lit streets covered in frost, the gaudy, bright decorations on Muggle houses contrasting starkly with the numbness that had been steadily taking over his mind. Nobody saw him as he made his way across one village, then another, little more than a shadow slinking past garden fences. Snatches of conversations and music reached his ears, but none of what he heard had registered for hours; the lights reflecting in the iced-over puddles and patches of snow were random blurs by now, and even the smell of food issuing from every other household had stopped eliciting any sort of reaction.

All he was alert for were the Death Eaters returning, or being seen. All he cared about was reaching Alfie's house; everything else was unimportant and thus, went overlooked.

Sirius had a hard enough time just putting one paw in front of the other and keeping a more or less straight line to Pict's Cross, without worrying himself with anything else. He couldn't feel much of anything either, just a steady sort of tiredness and an ever-increasing wish to just get this _over with_, whatever the outcome was. He just didn't care anymore.

All of that ended the second he spotted the crooked weather vane on top of Alfie's house in the distance. Seeing it startled him; he hadn't expected to reach the place for another eternity and a half, and he'd been plodding along in a daze, so that it was as if the uneven garden fence that was covered in evergreen bushes had just popped up before him out of thin air.

Sirius stopped, suddenly realising how cold it was, how tired he was, how much he just wanted to go somewhere dry and pass out—

And it was this fact which just might have saved his hide yet again.

He was about to transform and call at Alfie's door, when the familiar voice he'd learned to hate so much trailed to his ears from the other side of the solid wooden fence he'd just reached.

"If you know what's good for you," Bellatrix was saying smoothly, "you'll hand him over. We _know_ he's coming here, Alfie," she added, and Sirius froze in his tracks. "Or else, he's on his way. You always had a soft spot for him, hmm?" There was a pause, during which Sirius crept closer to the fence, the better to hear. "I would hate to have to gut you in front of your ragged house-elf. It's Christmas after all... _And_ you're family." The way she finished that sentence told Sirius volumes as to what she thought of the concept.

"Bellatrix," he heard another voice, equally familiar, but one he'd always associated with help, support, protection. One that was trembling with fear. "I've told you before—_he's not here_, he never was. He wouldn't be so stupid, would he? I'm the most obvious choice, aren't I?"

Sirius could tell even from this distance that Alfie was just babbling away at her to buy himself time. He slunk around a corner, to a spot where the bushes had always grown more sparsely – and then he saw them.

Alphard's garden was a mess, as was the outside of his house, which looked like it had been set on fire and only barely put out. The front door was hanging off one hinge, and some of the windows were broken.

Shuddering, Sirius turned his attention on his uncle, who didn't look hurt, maybe, but his hair was dishevelled, his clothes torn and tattered... His expression, one of earnest fear.

Save for the eyes.

There was a glint in them, Sirius saw, as the old wizard scanned the garden, one he'd learned to read long ago. The place might be a broken mess, but Alfie wasn't, not yet. Even if Bellatrix' wand was pushed against his chest.

"This is the last time I'm asking you, _uncle_," Bellatrix snarled. "Where is he?"

"What makes you think I'd know? From what I heard, you've already killed him twice over," said Alfie. Around Bellatrix, some Death Eaters laughed. Sirius instinctively backed away against a tree's trunk, but couldn't tear his eyes away.

A sense of failure swept over him, staggering and draining.

All the effort he'd made to get here, all he'd been through... and it had been for _nothing_.

Now Alfie was deep in it, and as much as Sirius would love to help him—how could he, he could barely stand—there was nothing he could do except stand by and watch his last hope for help vanish before his eyes. He cast a last, defeated look at him—

And froze.

Alfie was looking straight _at_ him, and for a second, it was as if there was no hedge separating them at all. Sirius stared back, and did he imagine it, or was Alfie _glad_ to see him?

_Don't sell me out,_ the inner Sirius was all but screaming, what other reason would Alfie have to be _happy_ to see him in a moment like this? Sure he was family, but then, so was his own mother, and look what she had done. _Don't sell me out. Not you too, not you. Please._

_Don't move_, the eyes told him, rooting him to the spot. _Stay put and be quiet, help is coming. I won't sell you out, don't be stupid._

Alfie was an accomplished Occlumens, an even better Legilimens – he'd taught Sirius everything about that, hadn't he? – and he was one of the few people who knew Sirius was an Animagus, so perhaps it wasn't all that surprising that he'd recognised him. What was, though, was that he'd seen him through the hedge—

"Look for him, then," Alfie said aloud, breaking the connection before Sirius could even think of anything to think back at him. "Be my guests. I'm not hiding him here, nor would I."

Sirius dearly hoped he didn't mean that last.

He watched the Death Eaters march inside, heard the noises of things breaking as they turned the large old house inside out, looking for him, heard them yelling at each other to turn this shelf over, or look behind that portrait...

Alfie stood by his door, clad in a bathrobe and slippers as torn-up as his house, glaring at Bellatrix.

"Tell them to tone it down," he said warningly. "I doubt your master will be happy to hear you lot are tearing down ancient heirlooms."

"As if he'd listen to _you_," snarled Bellatrix, in a mocking tone that made Sirius shiver despite himself. "My Master doesn't believe the word of traitors."

"Strange," said Alfie. "I thought he was well-enough versed in Legilimency to see truth when he hears it. At the rate you're going, I wouldn't even have to lie."

"What's that going to accomplish?" She retorted, scanning the old wizard's face with hatred. Alfie smiled and shrugged one shoulder. "He won't do anything to me."

"I wouldn't worry about what he _would_ do to you," said Alfie, "rather, I'd worry about what he _wouldn't_ _do_ to a witch who proves she is no better than a Mudblood thief. I doubt he'd want to make you his right hand if you're plainly not even capable of controlling your raiding companions..."

This made Bellatrix freeze. Furiously, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the house. Sirius almost smiled a doggy smile; Alfie was alright; but he too, was a Slytherin, it was plain as day.

He was about to leave his hiding place, to talk to Alfie, when someone grabbed him from behind.

"Let's go," said a voice, and without a warning, Sirius felt pulled backwards and like he was being sucked through a very thin tube — He couldn´t even yelp out.

.

* * *

"The wards are all set," Coop slumped down on a squashy settee by the fireplace. Night had fallen, and though the sounds of celebration were trailing all the way to Godric's Hall from the nearby village, none of the Christmas cheer was present in the house.

A first, in several generations of Potters, as some of the older portraits pointed out. But nobody listened to them.

All afternoon, the Potters had been working feverishly on anything and everything they could think of, from re-casting the protective wards in and around the house, to teaching the doors to tell a fake Sirius from the real thing, to, and this was what James had been doing for the past hour, trying to figure out how to find his best mate.

Betty had gone to the village earlier, to try and get in touch with Bathilda Bagshot, who had a fantastic collection of magical maps. The old magical historian had told her that she'd noticed some suspicious types sneaking around the village's cobbled streets earlier in the day, and, after hearing Betty's account, had promised she would try and get in touch with Albus Dumbledore, should Sirius be headed towards Hogwarts; this would not happen overnight, however.

Coop had responded to the news by placing an extra set of alarms all around the grounds of the house.

"Good, I suppose," James mumbled, without looking up from the maps, his brow furrowed in concentration. While his dad had been busy re-warding the place, James had pored over the maps Bathilda had let them borrow and tried fruitlessly to get into Sirius' head, if only for a moment. He had not had a hint of a reading of him all afternoon, but something told James that Sirius wasn't dead yet. Maybe he was asleep, or – and this made his gut twist with worry – too badly hurt to move.

"Have you made any progress, son?" asked Coop, raising his head to look at his boy. James shook his own, trying, yet again, to fight down the sense of failure and frustration that welled up every so often.

Suddenly James stiffened. His eyes slid out of focus for a moment, and he swayed on his chair.

"Is everything alright?" Coop asked, steadying James, who shook his head.

"He's... someplace dark," James stammered. He had gone white as a sheet. "He's frightened, and... A tunnel, and it's..." Just what it was, Coop never found out. James trailed off, clearly trying to grasp onto whatever sort of link he and Sirius shared. But the silence stretched on, and James' expression shifted to one of defeated worry.

"I lost him," he mumbled tonelessly. "I lost him again."

"But he's...?"

"Alive? Not for long, if this carries on." James looked pleadingly at his father, who could only wrap his arms around him. The sobs that shook James seconds later told Coop volumes, and certainly more than James would ever want to acknowledge he was feeling; hope was leaving him, and the sheer impotence he had been feeling had been mounting steadily. Coop wished, not for the first time, it would not hurt James so much.

"I don't even know where he is, Dad," he sobbed into Coop's shoulder. "He's dying, and I don't even know where he is."

"He's not going to die," Coop said gently, but not less firmly. "Not yet, you said it yourself. It's _Sirius_, he can't die like that. Not like that."

"Not like that," James echoed, nodding into Coop's shoulder.

"We have a lot to do, son," said Coop after a moment or two, when James did not seem to improve or indeed capable of rational thought. "The Death Eaters are watching us; there must be something we can do to distract them from Sirius, at the very least. Give him enough time to get someplace safe."

Commonly it is in a parent's nature to protect their child from any sort of distress. In this case, though, Coop knew that the only way James would not be distressed was if he was doing _something_ to help Sirius, however small. So he did the only thing he could to keep his son from losing it: he would let James decide what they would do next.

"Watching us?" It was as if James' floodgates had slid closed. He peered at his father, despair fading as he became increasingly attentive; already he was tensing for action. Coop nodded.

"Your mother noticed it earlier; they're trying to intercept every owl coming here or sent out from here... I'm sure they haven't found Sirius yet, and they're thinking maybe we are in touch with him."

"Intercepting owls, are they?" James' tone wasn't trembling anymore. He wiped at his face, sat up straight. "Let's give them something to entertain themselves with, then."

And James' solution to the problem, as Coop found out moments later, was highly creative.

.

* * *

All around, it was very dark.

Sirius turned his head to one side, meeting with something soft. He tried to raise a leaden hand to his face, met with something warm, soft...

A blanket.

Belatedly realising he was in his human form, he tried to transform back out of instinct, but a small hand kept him from doing so, pushing him back against his pillows. Firmly. It hurt.

"No, no. That's not good for young Master," chided a voice, and it was a familiar one.

"...Ellie?" Sirius croaked out. Ellie was Alfie's old elf, whom a two-year-old Sirius had named after his great-aunt Elladora. The name had stuck, and though Auntie Elladora had not been too fond of it, the elf had loved it. She'd looked after Sirius countless times— even going as far as sneaking into his mother's house to do so, when he was particularly bad off during the Summers.

"Yes, now young Master Sirius must rest," said Ellie.

"It's dark here..."

"Young Master, we is under the ground," was the explanation. "We is not found here by the Bad Mistress. My Master said Master Sirius has to drink this. Ellie will look after Master Sirius, now."

_Relief_, blessed relief, washed over Sirius. He still had not a clue where he was, unless he counted the fact that he was underground; but he was on a dry, warm bed, and Ellie was here. Alfie _had_ helped him, after all.

"Master Sirius must drink," the elf reminded him, and he felt something cold and hard press against his lips. He opened his mouth without protest, let the bitter liquid trickle down his throat. "Master Sirius must sleep now. Ellie will look after Master Sirius..."

Sirius had no choice but to listen to Ellie. He closed his eyes. Her voice, squeaky and shrill as all female elves', started fading out, as if she were speaking from miles away.

.

* * *

"Is this some kind of _joke_?"

Bellatrix was glaring furiously down the sewage shaft they had been led to. Next to her, Rodolphus shrugged his shoulders.

"That's where this owl was going," he told her, showing her the piece of parchment they had intercepted from the Potters' house.

"If he's down there," Bellatrix muttered dangerously, "I'll kill him. How dare he steep so low as to hide amidst Muggle waste? I never thought him capable of that. That's just disgusting... it's just _sick_."

"The letter is addressed to him, though," Rodolphus maintained, in the same tone. "S. Black, Whitechapel Sewers, London."

"Fine," huffed Bellatrix, casting a bubble-head charm on herself and starting her descent into London's raw sewage. "He's _so dead_."

Miles away, other Death Eaters were having similar problems. They were presently standing in front of waste dumps, muggle prisons, a lingerie shop, three Muggle theatres, a medical school, a shopping centre... Countless letters had left Godric's Hall, and more continued to do so. As the Dark Lord put it, not knowing which of these many scrolls was actually addressed to Sirius Black's real location, they had to intercept and follow them all.

So there they were, freezing to the bone and holding birds and scrolls in their hands, staring at every manner of unlikely locations, completely baffled. None took any note of the birds, which seemed to decide to stay with them after they'd been captured.

Not until the owls started blowing up in their faces.

.

* * *

Christmas afternoon found James sitting in the front room, all but dismantling the Christmas tree amidst a veritable sea of scrolls, upon which specially-charmed quills were scribbling furiously away. Baubles – and there were many of these in the Potter household – had turned into a ready source of material for his exploits.

If the Death Eaters wanted to follow his owls, then he'd give them owls. Aplenty.

He had sent out his explosive owls to every random place he could think of, all addressed to S. Bleak, Serious Black, Sirius O. Black, Sirius Blake, Serious Blackpool, addressing them to restaurants, abandoned houses, the sewers of all major cities in Britain. To dumps, harbours, even ships on the high seas.

It was their fault that he hadn't been able to go out and look for Sirius himself; his mother had seen them before any of them had – Death Eaters, positioned all around Godric's Hall. There was little chance of leaving the house now, much less unnoticed.

"Alphard, _thank the heavens_!"

James, who had been addressing yet another letter to 'S. Black, Gringott's Vault 666, London' and was wondering what he could transfigure into an owl this time, jumped up as though he had been fitted with a spring, rushing to his dad's side by the fireplace. There wasn't much to see at first, aside from Coop's rather large backside, but he could hear everything, and that was what mattered.

"Merlin's beard! What happened to you?"

"What do you think?" he heard Alphard say. There was a muttered spell, and the scraping of furniture. "Christmas is family time apparently, and I got a little house call... Here, let me just... Oh, hello, James."

James had poked his head into the fire next to his dad's. He gaped.

There was not a single thing standing in Alfie's front room. It looked like a raging monster had torn through it.

James held his breath.

"My God, Alphard... Are you alright?" his Dad asked. Alfie didn't quite look the part, although he looked unhurt. Mostly.

"For the most part," was the answer. "They came looking for Sirius."

"Have you seen him?"

"No, I have not _seen_ him," Alphard replied to James' hurried question, but his expression told him something else. "But I know he's still alive, and on the run. Maybe he'll go... oh, I don't know, someplace else."

"We're hoping he'd come here, but he..."

"He knows what would happen if he did."

There was a silence following Alphard's flat statement, during which James had the urge to knock himself out against the fireplace.

"I heard he was seen around here," Alphard added. "Everyone and their mum's looking for him, apparently he made a few very influential members of society rather cross." He chuckled good-naturedly, and James couldn't but feel hurt and confused. Sirius was in terrible danger, and Alfie, who'd always been a ready source of help or advice, was acting plain _strange_, and without a shred of the worry reflected in the Potters' faces before him.

Had he lost it for good?

"That's what I heard too," Coop said, as estranged by Alphard's reaction as his son was. "I'm worried, we haven't heard of him for days."

"Me either. You know, there's a spell they used in the old days," said Alphard, summoning himself a chair and flopping down on it, and why did he sound so casual? It didn't add up to James at all. "They modelled the Trace on underage wizards after this one... They used to use it for Azkaban prisoners, back in the day, before they put Dementors in the prison. They called it the Tristram Trace."

James could only stare. Uncle Alfie was usually as, if not more, clever and alert than his own parents. And yet there he was, arranging furniture and chatting as if he didn't have a care in the world. After a Death Eater attack, to boot. There was something else going on here, but _what_?

"What of that spell?" James' Dad asked, frowning deeply.

"Oh, it's just... Some of the old families used it too, in case they had unruly children, or were paranoid something would happen to them should they... stray. They created locator clocks after it. I'd prefer that, myself. Imagine if the spell were still in place, you'd never get any manner of privacy, would you? People would know where you were, no matter how sneaky you were."

"I can imagine," said Coop heavily. "Listen Alfie, about Sirius..."

"He's very resourceful," said Alphard abruptly, and he sounded much more like his usual self now. There was a certainty in his tone James couldn't miss. "I'm sure that wherever he is, he's keeping a... low profile."

"Hasn't he contacted you in any way?"

"Me? _No_. And that's a good thing too, isn't it?"

James sighed. _Was_ it a good thing, though?

"... The Death Eaters would have done much worse than tear my house apart otherwise. Of course, there was no _trace_ of him, so _if_ he got close, he must have scented them out and left, they were just too busy breaking my every last piece of furniture to notice."

James' eyes widened, and Alfie gave him the tiniest of nods before carrying on.

"Do you think he's alright?" he asked the old wizard, whose eyes told what his words did not quite convey.

"Depends what you mean by that," he answered, eyes locked with James'. He shook his head a little and scratched his chin. The answer was plain to James, whose stomach plummeted.

_Bugger._

"He's not been caught, but if and when they do catch him, he won't be alright by far. I heard there have been some close calls too, but to the South of here. I've been on the lookout; all I've seen though, aside from my dear niece and her friends, was a mangy stray."

_Stray?_

In James' head, an image popped up, clear as day, while Alphard spoke. Past Bellatrix and her wand, he could see a huge black dog with silvery eyes crouching in the snow by a bush. James froze. It was like seeing the same thing Sirius had before he stopped getting any reading from him, but from a different point of view. Uncle Alfie's.

The image shifted, and he could suddenly see Ellie the elf popping up beside the dog, and grabbing him. That must have been what gave Sirius a fright. The next instant, both elf and dog were gone, and the image vanished.

"I'd have welcomed the company, but it disappeared around the time I had my visits." He sighed heavily. "And my elf is gone as well... Poor Ellie, old as the hills, that one. I'm sure she went to look after the dog though; she was always trying to get me to take one in, for company. I'm just happy she died doing what she liked most..."

While to Coop that made little to no sense, James had a better understanding of what he meant; Ellie was old yes, but the only dog she had ever liked had been Sirius. Moreover, she was always trying to get Alfie to take Sirius in over the holidays, which he did whenever possible. Which in turn meant... Sirius _had_ been at Alphard's but was now in Ellie's care, and Alphard didn't know – or didn't want to tell – where he was.

It was saddening to hear that Ellie was dead, or rather, that she would die soon. She'd indeed been very old, and the only good thing was that she hadn't been beheaded like the others.

"I'm sorry," mumbled James. He'd quite liked the old elf. An excellent cook, and baker. And she'd always been kind to Sirius and to him...

"She wanted to go like that," said Alfie, smiling sadly. "For a good cause, you know. And I'm sure Elladora will bring me a replacement soon." Which translated into, Alfie would be watched very closely – he already was, and James realised how much the old wizard was risking, by just talking to them.

"Where do you think Sirius could be?"

"Ah, who knows. Everyone seems to have that question."

_Not far from you_. Then, a familiar sight appeared before James' mind's eye. _He'll try to go to Hogwarts_.

"If he's smart, he'll try to go somewhere safe. Then again, I'm not sure how he could manage. It's freezing out there, and I don't think he packed for a trip like that." Alphard's mouth kept moving, talking about random things, like the weather and the cold spells due to come their way, snow storms and whatnot. Mentally, however, the old wizard was telling James something quite different.

Legilimency wasn't that bad a thing to know.

By the end of the conversation, he had a fair idea of what had happened, of what was happening now... and, by means of the disconnected imagery Alphard was sending to his mind, he had a good idea of what route Sirius would strike up soon.

.

* * *

When Sirius woke up again, things had changed dramatically: he was lying face-down, for one, and there was a small blaze burning somewhere to his left, casting a warm, glowing light that danced off roughly-hewn stone walls. Through the flickering, he could make out a small table, and basins full of steaming somethings that filled the chamber he was in with a warm, fragrant air.

Squinting at the flickering light and raising his head a fraction, he could barely make out Ellie's diminutive form, busy somewhere around his feet. It was her who had woken him, as she moved him this way and that, humming some long-forgotten tune that reminded him of other times, when he was a child and she still had been allowed to look after him whenever she pleased. Back then, his parents had still given a jot about him; but that was long before Hogwarts, long before he went and became a Gryffindor and refused to go Dark. Long before he disgraced them all.

"Ungh," he croaked out, in what was meant to come out as a hello. Ellie did get the point, however.

"Master Sirius, you is awake!" she exclaimed, sounding very happy all of a sudden. Sirius muttered something that sounded more like "Meen_gah_," and nothing like what he wanted to say.

"Master Sirius will be alright," Ellie assured him, finishing her bandaging of his foot and suddenly standing in his field of vision. She clapped her hands, and Sirius found himself being rolled over on his back and propped up against a handful of pillows. "Is you comfortable?"

"Mugh," Sirius replied. Ellie gave him an elvish smile. She took a nearby goblet and measured out some poisonous blue liquid into it, which frothed and bubbled in the firelight.

"Master must drink," she told him, holding it to his lips. It tasted terribly bitter, but parched as Sirius was, he all but downed it in a few greedy gulps. Instantly, he felt better. More awake, and hungry.

"Where's Alfie?" he asked after a while, which he'd spent watching the old elf busying herself with whatever was on the table.

"Master is at home. Master cannot come to see Master Sirius," Ellie said mournfully. "Master cannot come to see Ellie, either... Never again." She wiped at her eyes, but when she turned to look at Sirius again, she was smiling a little. "Master Sirius has to get better now," she told him. "Get better and run far, far away."

"There's nowhere left to run, Ellie," Sirius mumbled. "They follow everywhere."

"Not here, Master Sirius," Ellie said confidently. "Here you is safe... For a little while, so you is better."

"Where's here, Ellie?"

"Deep down," she told him. "We is very deep down, where the Mistress cannot find the young Master. Where her magic cannot reach."

"What magic?"

"Dark, dark magic it is," said Ellie, waggling her long ears, eyes so wide Sirius fleetingly thought they might pop out of their sockets. "Outlawed magic; only the Ancient Magic is stronger. You is in danger, Master Sirius. You has to run far away, never let the Mistress find you again."

"Tell me something I don't know, Ellie..." Sirius sighed. Just thinking of his situation was draining. All he wanted was to pass out again, and maybe he'd wake up to something less bleak... Or not at all, defeatist as it sounded. "What day is it?"

"Christmas day, Master Sirius." Ellie dabbed at his face with a warm, wet cloth. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Ellie."

.

* * *

_My boy, I am sorry but I cannot help you. Your cousins have been watching, and even if you are in the escape tunnel, I am afraid I cannot let you stay__ for long. You wouldn't be safe, as I am not in a position to help you at the moment, and it's just a matter of time before my niece remembers it exists and goes looking for you there. The Dark Side is watching me too closely, and you cannot linger. _

Thus was the opening of the letter Alfie had left for him.

It was shortly before dawn on Boxing Day, and Sirius was sitting up in bed. He felt much better now, even though he was impersonating King Tut's mum – after the venerable old woman died. Ellie had wrapped him up in bandages, stuffed him full of potions, fed and washed him and forced him to rest, even if he was still jumpy as anything and any little noise was bound to make him wake up with a start.

She was packing up a bag for him now, charming it with her elven magic to be bigger on the inside and lightweight, as well as unbreakable. Sirius watched her with mixed feelings. He had known he wouldn't be able to stay for long, but...

A part of him had hoped for safety. For a longer breather, at any rate.

_What little I can provide is in __Ellie's custody, but she cannot go with you either. She will take you as far as you wish to go, once you are well enough to travel, but she will have to return to me afterwards; they will track her down too, and you know she cannot lie to them – she serves the Family Black, and sadly, you and I are not the only members. _

_My advice is, go to Scotland. Go to Hogwarts. You will find help there, Dumbledore will take you in, and there is no-one else who could help you now, aside from the Potters. Coop can help you, but I know you wouldn't listen or want to endanger James and his family further, so I'll leave that choice to you._

Sirius sighed. He had nearly died just getting to the South-West. Going to Hogwarts seemed impossible from where he was sitting. Going to Wales and the Potters seemed doable, seeing as he could maybe arrive before New Year's, particularly now his strength was slowly returning, and he had found he could move again, thanks to Alfie's potions and Ellie's excellent care... But wouldn't he be playing straight into Voldemort's hands if he did that?

He watched Ellie some more, a lump forming in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. She would die soon; having chosen to help him, she had chosen her own death. Sirius wondered if it was worth it, but it was too late to change that now. What done was done, and she had said she was happy to go like that. Alfie had given her a measure of poison, which she would take after obliterating any trace of Sirius' stay in the escape tunnel. Alfie would bury her, she said, head and all. After all those years of service and hard work, that was all she wanted; to keep her head.

His eyes fell on the second part of the letter, skipping over a bit that was full of advice on how to fool the Munchers, and his heart plummeted further.

_There is a second Trace on you, which enables the Death Eaters to fi__nd you whenever you are resting or in your human form. It is called the Tristram Trace, and even if I know how to undo that particular weave of spells, being a Black, I cannot do it without harming you more. The only people I know have enough wisdom and power to do it without killing you are Coop Potter, Angus McAlpin, and Albus Dumbledore. If you truly want to give your dear old mother the slip, then go to either of them, and do it soon._

_Take care, __my boy, and godspeed. _

Godspeed. Sirius snorted without humour. Godspeed to _where_? He rolled the black wand that had come with the letter back and forth in his bandaged hand, mulling things over as he read the note still attached to it.

_This wand belonged to the first Sirius Black, I think it's only fitting you should have it __– and nobody will miss it from my collection anyway. May it be of a greater service to you than the original owner. Keep yourself safe, I wish I could do more._

"Is Master Sirius ready?"

_No, Master Sirius very well isn't._

"Yes, Ellie." Sirius tore the note from the wand, making it burst into flame, and got to his feet.

Ellie gave him his pack, adjusting his jumper and scarf for the last time before she reminded him to transform. Heavy-hearted, but knowing there was no other way, Sirius did so, following her doggedly out a tunnel, which was, surprisingly, right outside Alfie's back garden.

Without a word, the elf placed a small hand in Sirius' fur, leading him towards a narrow, snowed-in path, which would take them to a spot devoid of Death Eaters, from which she could apparate them both away.

Regretting every step that distanced him from his uncle's house, Sirius followed her lead and started running.

* * *

TBC. R&R.

Coming soon - Part Four: Wherein James punches a Muncher, Sirius punches a Muncher, Voldemort punches a Muncher, and everyone is generally violent and aggressive.


	4. Part Four: Boxing Day

**Runaway**

**By DracoNunquamDormiens**

In this chapter: Warning – Character Death, sort of. And gore. Lots of that last. Sort of. I know you all love it. Sort of.

Disclaimer: Refer to Ch. 1. Not mine, et cetera.

**Part Four: Boxing Day**

**Wherein Voldemort punches a Muncher, Munchers punch each other, James punches a Muncher, Sirius punches a Muncher, and everyone is generally aggressive.**

**

* * *

**

"James!"

The cry rang across the otherwise silent house on top of Godric's Hill, echoing along the halls and rooms. It soon was repeated by a many-voiced chorus as the portraits all over the old Potter household joined in.

"_James_!"

James nearly fell off the bed at the clamour; his first thought, as he grabbed blindly for his wand and his glasses, was that he had no idea when he'd ended up here; he hadn't gone to bed at all that he could remember, yet here he was, all tucked in and in his pyjamas…

His second thought was that they were under attack. The result: James was impossibly tangled in his blankets the next moment, having tried to jump out of the bed and throw his covers aside at the same time.

"James! He's here!"

Now _that_ woke him up.

James was already on the way to his window overlooking the front of the old manor, glasses askew and stumbling over his feet and displaying none of his famed quick reflexes.

There on the front drive, he met with a long longed-for, yet sorry sight: Sirius was standing in the snow, wearing torn-up pyjamas and looking worse than James had ever seen him. He was bloodied and bruised, holding his midriff and looking half-frozen and _this _close to collapsing where he stood. His hair was longer than James remembered, and he was very pale, with rings under his eyes. In short, he looked like crap. And yet - James had never been so glad to see his best friend. After so long without news, it had been hard to keep hope alive, even for him.

"_Sirius_!" James shouted, overjoyed, but the happy note in his voice turned into one of alarm when it appeared that Sirius didn't want to come closer to the house. In fact, James noted in dismay, Sirius seemed to be debating whether to leave or not; he kept glancing over his shoulder, but following his gaze all James could see were Sirius' footprints in the snow, all the way to the nearby forest. James cursed under his breath. Sirius was so clever, but he could be immensely stupid sometimes. Like when it came to asking for help. "Sirius, _wait_! I'm coming down!"

Sirius looked up; his right eye was bloodshot, and he seemed to have trouble focusing, but James could see something akin to relief crossing his features.

He raced out his room and down the stairs, nearly bowling his Mum over by the door.

"I'll handle it," he yelled, grabbing his coat and a spare one for Sirius, putting his on hurriedly. He stopped and flashed his mother a quick grin. "Told you he wasn't dead."

"Bless you, James," said Betty, her hands clamped over her mouth. "It really is him! But why won't he come in?"

"Because he's an _idiot_ - he probably thinks it's a bother or something," James replied, yanking the door open. "I'll convince him to stay, wait here."

.

* * *

_Go to Hogwarts, it's your best bet if you want to avoid Godric's Hollow. Nobody else can or will help you, except for the Potters and Dumbledore_. The words of Alfie's letter, depressing as they were, were branded into his skull. Sirius found that photographic memory was a handy trait to have right now; he'd had to destroy his uncle's letter, and it had been harder than he'd thought possible. As it were, it had been the only connection to his uncle he had, the only connection to someone who cared about him beyond turning him into some sort of mindless, cruel puppet for Voldemort. It was also the closest thing to communication with another living being he'd had in nearly a week; James' message didn't count. Sirius had pushed him away, it was simply too dangerous for him. He'd hoped for some help from Alfie, which made this letter hugely important for Sirius. And...

It was also doubtless proof that Alfie _had_ helped him; if the Death Eaters got a hold of it, they'd kill Alfie on the spot.

Now he was faced with a bunch of choices, each as weighty as the next.

_Don't take the Knight Bus. There are more of them around than you would believe. I'm sorry my boy, but you're on your own. Try Muggle transport, maybe it will be easier for you, but they are patrolling every train station; I'm certain you are resourceful enough to give them the slip. _

Alfie's letter didn't get easier to digest, even if it _was _helpful. Knowing what he was up against did help, after all.

A little.

Sirius adjusted the knapsack Alfie had sent on his shoulder. It was small, containing only a little food and three potions – an alertness one, to help him keep his wits about him, a general restorative, and one he hated with a passion, which would however, help him heal from dark curses. Or something.

Sirius had never been great shakes at Healing; what else was the school nurse for, anyhow? But, he vowed, if he made it out of this one alive, he'd look into it at least. Right now, though... He was busy resisting temptation.

"Ach, Ellie..." He sighed heavily. He was standing at the corner of a train station, and it was so _not _what he'd expected.

"_Penarth_?" Sirius asked at midvoice, staring at the brightly-lit railway station, which stood deserted and glowing in the darkness like a beacon. "What happened to Sheffield? Newcastle? Even Blackpool would've been better. But _Penarth_? Come _on_."

There was no answer, save for the soft sound of snow that had started falling and was swirling in wisps across the street. He was completely alone, in the middle of a deserted street, in _Wales_.

Penarth, to be exact. Tiny seaside town close to Cardiff, where you could get really good fish and chips, population eight thousand… oh, who cared.

Ellie had apparated him in the opposite direction he'd wanted to take, pretty much.

Wales, in any shape or form, wasn't really where Sirius wanted to go, but a. Ellie was as stubborn as he was, which didn't make for a good prospect but for lots of arguing they didn't have time for; b. Sirius was still hurt and so worn out he couldn't argue his point to the extent he wanted - apparently his reasons for not wanting to go to the Potters weren't good enough for Ellie at all, and he'd even told her what Voldemort wanted James for. How dangerous it was to get closer to the Potters. Ellie wasn't fazed. She only responded that, "The Potters are good people. They're Master's friends, and they're powerful. Master will be cared for there. Master _must _go to his friend James."

"I'd love to Ellie, _believe_ me - but if I go there, I'll only put them in more danger. The Bastard wants to use me to get James, he'll worse than kill him, and I'm _not _letting that happen," Sirius had argued. But since he had been half slurring at her, and most importantly, c. Ellie was the one doing the apparating, she had gone and dropped him off in Wales _anyway_. At the one station that could take him straight to James.

Sirius heaved a sigh; it _was _tempting, to go to Godric's Hollow rather than risk his life any more trying to get to Hogwarts on foot. This was why Ellie had brought him here; there was a magical railway that went through this station, the Royal Hollow Rail. But he _couldn't_. Or rather, he _wouldn't_ take it, even if he knew, deep down, that Ellie was right: He couldn't expect any help from anyone except for James' family. He even had his doubts about Dumbledore; his relationship with the Headmaster limited itself to expulsion threats or special services to the school awards. The only people he trusted blindly, were the Potters… But.

Could he risk it? Could he even make it to James' alive? Could he make it to _Hogwarts _alive, at that?

_Gah._

There was no time to carry on debating. Sirius' sharp ears picked up a faint popping noise that told him someone had just apparated around the corner. He checked his watch, then went dog.

Three minutes, and they'd tracked him down. Sirius let out a doggy oath under his breath, slinking into she shadows and erasing his foot- and pawprints with his tail. Alfie was right; they _did_ have a failsafe method to find him, no matter where he went. The Tristram Trace, Alfie had called it. One only Dumbledore or James' dad had the power to counter. Probably because they were the only people old enough to remember it at all...

"I _swear _it was pointing to here!" Bellatrix was frustrated, kicking at the snow and obliterating Sirius' badly-concealed tracks as she did so. Well then. He might not even have bothered. Rodolphus was standing next to her, holding a glowing map of the United Kingdom with a confused expression that made him look even dimmer than Sirius would have given him credit for. "It's like he… like he just _vanished_-"

Sirius slunk back into the shadows, striking up a path that would hopefully take him towards Cardiff. Maybe with luck, he could get on a train to Scotland—

He didn't get far.

_Sirius!_

A feeling of hope washed over him, sudden surprise and exhilaration that were most certainly _not_ his own; he had no reason to feel either. Sirius froze in his tracks, an image flashing before his eyes. _James, racing down the stairs of his house, looking alarmed and ecstatic at the same time._

_What the hell—_

Sirius had been blocking James out for the longest time now; it had been so long that it came naturally to him, even if he was certain James hated the arrangement. It was for his own safety, after all… But this, _this _was highly irregular. Sirius curled up in an alleyway, Death Eaters forgotten, focusing his mind on James.

He was all but leaping down the stairs, to the entrance parlour. Sirius caught a flash of Mrs. P.

_"I'll handle it,"_ and there it was once more, hope, soaring. _"Told you he wasn't dead."_

_"Bless you, James. It really is him! But why won't he come in?"_

_"Because he's an idiot –"_

_Huh?  
_

"…_he probably thinks it's a bother or something. I'll convince him to stay, wait here."_

Sirius caught a glimpse of the door opening, saw fresh, swirling snow…

And then he saw...

Himself.

Sirius' blood froze. There, standing all ragged-like in the Potters' front drive, was… Sirius himself. He was beaten up and bloodied, much like he'd been that night, before he jumped out his bedroom window. But it _wasn't him_. Couldn't James see that that Sirius hadn't even crossed the wards? Couldn't he see that it _wasn't him_?

_IT'S—NOT—ME!_ Sirius shouted in his mind. He was up on all fours now, frantic yelps leaving his throat without him realising it. _JAMES, IT'S NOT ME! IT'S A TRAP! DON'T LEAVE THE WARDS!_

Sirius went unheard; James was too excited, too confident that he'd recognised his best friend. Sirius did the only thing he could.

James was plowing ahead, ignoring his frantic mental pleas completely; the only thing to catch his attention would be if their mindlink sent him an alert. And the only way that would happen, was if Sirius was in mortal danger.

Well.

At least there wasn't a shortage of _that_.

So he did the natural thing: he went human again, raced for the spot where Bellatrix and Rodolphus had been not a minute ago. He never thought he'd be actually _glad_ to see either of them ever again.

"Oi! _POOPATRIX_! OVER HERE!"

The curses didn't take long to whizz every which way. Sirius turned tail and ran, sprinting down the alley he'd been taking shelter at and down yet another street, the Death Eaters in tow. Already more were apparating, hastily summoned to help Bella and directed towards him with her shrill shrieks.

_SEE? __**THIS**__ IS ME!_ Sirius sent at James, more worried about preventing him to get caught than for his own safety. A Slashing Curse hit him in the side and he cried out, landing sprawled on the ice.

"Bloody hell," he gritted out, but it wasn't because of the blood gushing out from his side. He'd lost his connection with James. And he couldn't focus on the link. Rodolphus was towering over him, his wand raised in triumph.

"I got him!" he yelled. Sirius backtracked, teeth gritted and heart racing. He had a wand, his ancestor's wand – but could he use it? The Ministry would surely send him to Azkaban for one too many counts of underage magic, and the Ministry was, as far as he knew, Voldemort's puppet stage anyhow. He couldn't hope for help from that end, and—

He rolled out of the way of a curse, straight into an Imperius.

The familiar, warm feeling didn't even take hold this time; he shook it off without a second thought, trying to find a way out of this fix, trying to connect to James again. Sirius skidded around a corner, confused yelling and beams of spells impacting the corner of the shops he'd passed, and he raced down a street so clean you'd have thought it was brand new. There was nowhere to hide, just a row of identical town houses with identically tall stone walls. He sprinted past them, hoping for an empty alleyway or something, anything to help him out here—

He saw a car, half-covered in snow, headed for it, it could maybe provide some temporary—

_BOOM_.

The car exploded into a thousand bits. Sirius went flying to the side, completely winded by the sudden blast. His ears were ringing; he couldn't hear, couldn't get up—

.

* * *

"Sirius you big oaf, get over here!" James called at his friend, who was even now turning around to leave. In his mind, James got a sense of urgency from Sirius, which he interpreted as him not wanting to spend much time out in the open… He tried to go faster, sinking knee-deep in the snow. "Wait up! You can stay here—Mum and Dad are okay with it, you can—"

"_Oi! POOPATRIX! OVER HERE!"_

James stopped in his tracks, eyes widening in confusion. Flashes of a battle were blending in with the pristine, snow-covered landscape of Godric's Hall. _Sirius wasn't here_. He was sending a warning –

_SEE? __**THIS**__ IS ME!_

Sirius wasn't here. He _wasn't here_, and he was in danger, just because James had foolishly fallen into what was pretty obviously a trap.

Rage gripped James.

The fake Sirius was standing there, as though he were waiting for him. Right outside the wards his dad had set a couple of days ago.

"Get over here," he gritted out, stomping to the fake Sirius.

"J-James, I need your help," Sirius said plaintively. "I had to run. I had to. There isn't any time..."

For an answer, James landed his fist smack in the centre of his face.

"How dare you?" James asked, even as the fake Sirius staggered back a few steps. "Don't you dare show your face here again!" He heard his mum shriek out in alarm, even as James' dad left the house, wand raised.

"Son, what's going on?"

"What are you doing?"

"_THIS ISN'T SIRIUS_!" James roared, pummelling the Death Eater for all he was worth. "IT'S NOT HIM! THEY'RE USING POLYJUICE POTION!" With every word, he landed another blow at the Death Eater who was pretending to be his friend, his brother. But the real Sirius, he could still sense, was in deathly peril now, all because he'd fallen for it. He punched every inch he could reach, couldn't stop; until a spell grazed his ear.

"JAMES – GET IN THE HOUSE!"

One thing might be said for James' dad. He had quite the lungpower when he wanted to. James stopped short, his wand flying into his hand in an automatic motion. Death Eaters in silvery skull-shaped masks were rounding in on him, and he was outside the wards.

"_NOW_!" Coop shouted imperiously, hurrying forward even as James scooted back, trying to regain his footing.

"Come now, Potter," one of the Death Eaters sneered, "You want to see your little friend again? We've got Black… You can have him back if you come with us."

"Yeah," said another, vaguely familiar voice. "He misses you. He gets lonely in our Master's dungeons, you see." Harsh laughter erupted from the group of black-robed wizards and witches. Some were making kissy noises.

"Is he your _girlfriend_, Potter?"

"Do you miss him?"

"Oh, _come on_, didn't you see how he was running to him? _Sirius_! _Sirius_ my love!" another cried out in a shrill falsetto.

"Piss off," James spat out, getting to his feet. A shield left his wand a split second before a Hurling Hex hit him in the face.

He retaliated with a blasting curse.

.

* * *

"_Where_, did you say?" Voldemort did a double take.

"In Penarth, My Lord. It's a seaside town near Cardiff," said Lestrange. "We still don't know how he got there, but Bella—"

"Spare me the geography lesson. Send everybody there," Voldemort interrupted. His red eyes were shining like coals in the half-light of his dungeon chamber. "Nobody defies me like that and lives, and I'll teach this one a lesson before he dies."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Send them in now. I want that boy _CAUGHT TODAY_! And mark my words," the Dark Lord added, "I want him alive. He's _not to be killed_. I want him to see that nobody defies me and succeeds. He shall be made an example of!"

"Yes, My Lord." Rabastan was grinning at the floor. "Right away, My Lord."

"What news of the Potter boy?" was the next question. Rabastan's grin faltered. "My Lord… The Potter boy… He saw right through our trap. He attacked Snape without a reason, I had to return because of Bella's summons, I—"

"What?" Rabastan cringed, but forced himself to look up. Voldemort hated cowards, which was a bit ironic, seeing as he was surrounded by them. The Dark Lord grabbed him by the collar of his robes, eyes flashing dangerously.

"He… He saw right through it. We thought it was a cert, but…" Rabastan didn't get any further. He was suddenly seeing stars, sitting on the stone floor of his Master's chambers, blood flowing from his nose.

Voldemort rubbed his knuckles.

"Either you're more useless than I thought or Potter's smarter than I thought. Very well, retreat. Send _everyone_ after Black. Potter won't doubt the real thing once he sees it." Voldemort didn't sound disappointed, which perhaps saved Rabastan Lestrange's hide from more than a punch in the nose. If anything, he was impressed. Annoyed, but impressed all the same. Clearly, he still held hope of adding James to his collection of followers. And quite possibly, Black too; there had been rumours amongst the higher-ranked Death Eaters, that Voldemort was trying to find out just how far Sirius could go, hunted as he was. Every setback, every time he vanished right under their noses, seemed to spur the Dark Lord on to greater heights, and he was excited with the hunt. It was as though he was proud of that supremely annoying kid, and it was rumoured that it was because he had aims of making Potter and Black his right-hand men. He wanted to shape them young, and even Bella had to – grudgingly – admit that they would make excellent commanders. After her, of course. But Rabastan was beginning to fear that they would be de-bunked when Potter and Black came along. Because they would; everyone broke in the end, bowed to their Master's will.

He _always _got his way.

Still, Rabastan bowed himself out of the chamber, hurried to the Apparition Point of Voldemort's dingy little south-London flat – which everyone had questioned but couldn't but see the strategic brilliance behind, as he was right across the street from the Ministry, hiding in plain sight – straightened up his nose and robes, and summoned every Death Eater he could to help. The sooner this was over with, the better.

.

* * *

"_Extundo_!" reached his ears a split second before the curse hit. Sirius sailed through the air and landed in a heap some six feet ahead, ribs aching and trembling from head to toe.

"Not so cocky now, are you, little cousin?"

"Shove it, Bella," Sirius wheezed. He was ever so _sick_ of this.

He was sick of running, sick of not being able to defend himself. This _was_ a life-or-death situation, and if the Ministry wanted to arrest him for doing underage magic in a Muggle setting, the Ministry could very well go eat his lucky knickers.

Which, he mused as he struggled to get up, had lost their power a handful of days ago. He reached a trembling hand into his inner coat pocket. Fingers closed around wood, completely alien yet familiar at once. Alfie hadn't been lying; this wand _was_ a good fit.

If he cast a spell and was right about the Ministry, he'd spend the rest of his life on the run. If he was wrong, he'd spend the rest of his life on the run anyway. Death Eaters or Aurors, he'd be hunted until the day he died, he knew that with the same certainty he knew the Chudley Cannons wouldn't win a match in the next thirty years.

Only, he didn't care anymore. About anything. Not about running, or fighting. Or even dying, which, to be true, had been at the top of his fears lately. Maybe it was overexposure to death threats, but somehow they had lost their power over him.

"Oh, give up, little cousin," Bella was saying, even as _pops_ and _bangs_ announced the arrival of even more Death Eaters. "The Dark Lord has… special plans for you. You should feel honoured."

"_Extundo_!" Sirius shouted for an answer. Bella was hit square in the chest, not having foreseen this turn of events at all.

Next he knew, Sirius was running down a cobbled street, Death Eaters hot in pursuit. He could hear them coming closer, yelling at each other. Everywhere he turned, at least one Death Eater was approaching. His only chance out of this one was to transform, but he needed to find a hiding place first. Just for a few seconds, that would be enough to lose them—

He backtracked, casting a shield spell at Rabastan, who had apparently just arrived. His shield crumbled as a hex he couldn't place smashed into it. Not that Sirius stayed put; already he was trying to find another way to lose them. Spells smashed all around him, hitting lampposts, telephone booths, cars, houses. Cruciatus. Imperius. Slashing Curses. Bone-Breakers. He lost count.

Sirius skidded around a corner, slipping on the ice as he ducked out of the way of a purple beam that singed his coat and landing sprawled at someone's feet. He looked up, already trying to scoot out of the way—

It wasn't a Death Eater – it was a girl, only a couple of years older than him, wearing a green sweater and a matching woollen cap and scarf which covered her dirty blond hair. She was carrying a grocery bag, eyes wide as she saw him. Her mouth was moving, but Sirius couldn't make out the words. She seemed to be asking if he was alright.

"No," he said urgently, but he couldn't speak either without stammering. Not unless it was a spell. "Go away. Go home." But the girl put her bag down and helped him up, pointing at a house a little ways ahead, never stopping her monologue. Sirius caught the words "let's call the police" and "My dad will help, come on." Sirius shook his head, looked around his shoulder. Bella and two more Death Eaters were approaching, and now he had to get this girl out of the way—

Spells whizzed overhead, and she gave a frightened start. Sirius cast a shield charm, which was obliterated again after deflecting a volley of curses.

"Come on," the girl urged, tugging at his arm and half-dragging him to her house.

"Go home, they'll kill you!" Sirius shouted, trying to push her away. For a split second, their eyes met. She was terrified, but still trying to help. "Run!" Sirius yelled at her. He gave her a push. She was looking over his shoulder though, mouth open in a silent scream.

There was a flash of silver light. The girl's hand tensed around his shoulder, but only for a second. The next moment, she had his arm in a death grip. Blood spilled out, splattering the side of Sirius' face, the pavement, the house walls. Sirius whipped around, to see Rodolphus and Rabastan aiming again. Bella stood behind them, laughing nastily and holding her ribcage...

"Ah, missed him," Rod said, his conversational tone carrying clearly to Sirius' ears and echoing against the walls. "Let's see if he's so lucky this time – _Sectumsempra_!"

The silver beam missed Sirius yet again, even as the girl collapsed, still gripping his arm and taking him down with her. A second Slashing Curse hit him in the leg, opening a long gash in a blinking. Sirius ignored the sharp stinging, staring at the girl who was gasping for air, bleeding to death right before his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sirius whispered. There was nothing he could do, except try and stem the blood flow with her green scarf, which was soon soaked in red. Her eyes were wide in terror, mirroring his own. She was trying to say something.

Sirius never found out what that was; there was a flash of green light, and the hands still gripping him tensed for a split second and went slack. He stared at her in horror.

"No… _NO_!" He shook her, but it was useless. She was gone.

The girl had died, just because she'd stopped to help him.

Sirius turned around to face the Death Eaters, who were now mocking him for being sentimental or some such grout.

"Aww, did we huwt your fwiend?"

Sirius' hand went to his wand, and he cast a blasting curse at them, struggling to get to his feet. His leg felt like it was on fire, the rest of him felt like it was falling apart, heavy and leaden. But he had to move, had to get out of here, had to give the Death Eaters a taster of their own medicine...

But not in that order.

There would be no more running, for one.

That girl hadn't even _known_ what was going on. She'd just been passing by, and they'd murdered her, just like that! Sirius could, perhaps, understand their animosity towards him. He could never understand or condone cruelty, much less unwarranted cruelty, towards Muggles or anyone else when they were defenceless. He'd been running for so long, that part of him had forgotten what he'd been fighting; and it was…

_T__his_.

It was the final straw for him. Who cared about the Ministry and its stupid underage wizardry trace thing? Sod them, sod the Aurors, his family and their stupid Tristram Trace, sod everyone else too while at it.

_This_ was the real reason he'd earned the loathing of his entire family. It wasn't Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, it wasn't that he was too soft to go Muggle baiting, it wasn't that he'd never been a pureblood maniac like the rest of them. It was this sort of thing that should never have happened what he stood against. _This_ was something Sirius needed to stop.

Nobody else was, so what the hell? These mindless murderers were his _family_. He'd grown up amongst them, had been taught to fear what they could do from the moment he could walk and talk… But.

They _could_ be fought.

Or at least, he could try to. And, he decided, he _would_.

His blood was boiling; his new wand in his hand was humming with suppressed magic. Something had broken inside of him, and right now, he wasn't about to go dissecting it, but it had put everything quite clearly into perspective. Whatever happened, he vowed, he'd never let something like this happen again.

Not ever.

As if on cue, lightning forked overhead, sealing the deal.

"Oh, he's _angry_," Bella snickered her childish, would-be innocent laugh. "Was she your ghoulfriend, little Sirius? Did you _love_ her, you Muggle-loving piece of _scum_?"

"She had nothing to do with it! She was just trying to help!" Sirius spat out in outrage. "You're so proud of your heritage, Bella – Look around you! All you do is destroy everything you see! Everything that's good, you kill!" He was surrounded now, standing in a pool of blood that was quickly freezing around his feet, growing with the addition of his own.

He raised his wand; thirty-odd Death Eaters did the same, jeering and laughing. Sirius, though, was way past caring about that. He didn't care what happened to him anymore, all he knew is that he'd get them back for that girl, who had been kind to him and died for it.

There were no words to the spell he cast, but suddenly there was a whirlwind of snow rising around him, like a miniature tornado. Ice blocks flew up in the air, growing spikes as they sped around Sirius at a hundred miles per hour, so fast they were nothing but blurs.

_Well_, Sirius thought, _if I'm going to do underage wizardry, I better do this right. _

He jabbed his wand into the whirlwind, blasting it to bits.

And then the ice blocks sped towards the Death Eaters with a rushing sound so loud it hurt. Screams rent the air, but this time they weren't Sirius'. They belonged to every single Muncher who'd been jeering a moment ago.

Sirius stepped towards Rod, who was, miraculously still standing, and socked him one right on the nose.

It gave way with a most satisfying _crunch_.

"GET—_HIM_!" Bella shrieked from somewhere outside his field of vision, yet too close for comfort.

Sirius whipped around, wand at the ready. He wasn't thinking anymore. He was just reacting. For days he'd wanted to do this, fight back. If he'd only done it sooner, maybe the girl half-buried in the snow wouldn't have needed to die at all.

Spells lit up the darkened sky, where a blizzard was forming, but this time they weren't one-sided. Sirius gave as good as he got, firing hexes, shields, charms so fast it was a blur. Around him, the street came alive; he had always had a good grasp on wandless, wordless magic. He needed to master it to pull off his Animagus transformation, but he'd never used it outside Hogwarts or a magical household, where the Trace could be fooled; as it turned out, it was _very_ effective. Lampposts grew arms and legs, battering whichever unlucky Death Eater happened to be nearby. Cars went flying at them, growing fangs and chomping down on whoever was close; the very ground grew hands under the Death Eaters' feet.

But more were coming, and Sirius was quickly getting tired. He was nowhere near top shape, and that ice tornado thing had drained him more than he'd ever dare admit; he was hurt, and despite Ellie's excellent care, a few hours of rest had only sufficed for a brief respite. Soon he was gasping for breath, struggling to keep up his previous fast pace.

He would have to get away after all, he realised, when he heard more Death Eaters casting barrier charms to keep Muggles away from "their" street. And there was only _one_ way out of here.

He'd seen it happen enough times, had side-along apparated with his parents countless times since he was little; even Andromeda, who passed her test a couple of years earlier, had given him pointers when he asked her how it was done.

She had also advised him not to try it, until he had his own license.

Sirius figured he'd never get one anyhow; he was Azkaban material, should the Ministry get a hold of him.

Despite the urgency of the situation, which he couldn't overlook, Sirius tried to recall her words to his mind, while he ducked and rolled out of the way of hex after hex, scrambling for cover wherever he could find it. Now it was a partly-destroyed stone wall, the next moment, an upturned car that was still on fire and burned a hole into his trousers.

_Picture the place you want to go to,_ Andie had said. _Picture it so hard that you can imagine yourself standing there_.

Sirius tried to picture Hogsmeade; how it would look now, all snowed in and festive… He rolled out of the way of a volley of curses, which kept coming even after he'd dodged the first handful. He ran for it, his leg and side protesting every step, teeth gritted as he cast the strongest shield he knew behind him, leaping in midair to get behind a pile of snow.

"_Contra Contego_!" It was blasted to bits by a Cruciatus not a second later; Sirius had barely time to jump aside from a throat-cutting spell and two Killing Curses, which impacted a house a little further up the street. There were simply too many Death Eaters, and too few hiding spots. He couldn't even safely transform without being seen, so his usual last resort was shunted further down his list of possible things to do.

"I'll get you, little cousin, you might as well stop running," Bella's voice echoed down the street.

Sirius had never wished himself far, far away more than he did now. He hurled a handful of Death Eaters out of his way, but he was ultimately headed towards a dead end... Literally dead, to judge by the Killing Curses Bella was now casting at him.

An image appeared before his mind's eye; it was a village, snowed in but quite different from Hogsmeade – another curse flew past, grazing his shoulder and making him stagger back a step. He went with it – how could he not? – He turned on his heel. There was a sharp tug, as though he were syphoned through a very thin tube…

And he was gone, even as a Killing Curse impacted the spot he had been standing not a second before.

.

* * *

"Are they gone?" Betty's voice was trembling.

"Yeah." James peered past of the wall his dad had conjured, smack in the middle of the front drive. It was half destroyed, still smoking from the battle that had broken out. His parents were leaning against it, still quite shaken up from what had just happened. James respected the hell out of them right now; he'd never seen them actually duel anyone, ever. And they'd proven that they were nowhere near powerless when faced with twenty-odd Death Eaters trying to get into their home. Coop's hair was even more untidy than usual, and he had a crazed look about him; Betty was already mourning the loss of her oldest cast iron pans, which they'd used to beat three of them into submission in what James would later claim was the "revenge of generations of Potter dinners". James himself was bleeding from the side of his head, his hair completely on end. "They're gone."

"That was abrupt," Coop agreed, cleaning his glasses and looking around much like James was. "It's like they just… ran for it."

"A good thing too," Betty chimed up, already summoning a handkerchief to clean out the cut on James' head. "I'd have hated to lose more of my grandmother's skillets…"

Despite themselves, all three of them laughed. It was a relief, but James for one wasn't fooled. The Death Eaters had been ready to launch a full-scale attack on their home, but now they were gone, without a clear reason as to why. It made him uneasy; they could at least have tried a bit harder, like when they destroyed other magical households. The Longbottom castle had been destroyed last Summer, and all of that family were more than capable witches and wizards. Frank's mum above all… Something wasn't right about this, even for Muncher standards.

And his probing senses got the answer almost at once; he'd forgotten all about Sirius' current predicament, in some unknown place, surrounded by Death Eaters… But now he was able to sit and think again – and cringe here and there at his mum's wound-cleaning techniques – he had a distinct sense of danger from Sirius even now.

"Ow, Mum – _ew_," he muttered. "Since when is spit antiseptic?"

"It's mother's spit, dear," Betty answered calmly. "It cures anything. Now stop writhing – He can face off twenty Death Eaters all by himself," she went on, now addressing Coop. "Without batting a lid, but clean out a cut and he acts like it's on fire."

"Well it _stings_," James complained, but his Dad was already snickering. "I bet your spit is acid."

"I'll spit at the Death Eaters the next time, then, honey," was the answer. Then, when she noticed her son's suddenly less-than-cheery expression, "What's the matter?"

"It's Sirius," James replied. "He sensed I was falling into a trap, and… and I reckon he tried to warn me but I didn't listen. I thought it was y'know, the other Sirius' thoughts. I _really_ thought it was him… I just… wanted it to be him, I guess. He's not even coming here… And he got himself in trouble again, just to get me to listen."

There was a silence in response to his words.

"We should go inside," Coop decided after a while. "Freezing out here won't help anyone. We'll figure out what to do… I guess we have to call the Aurors first."

As he was ushered inside, all James could think of was of one person who was even now, freezing out there.

.

* * *

There was a swishing sound, and the Death Eaters' spells, which had been sent from opposite directions at Black collided with each other in a flurry of sparks and a blast that shattered every window within a half-mile radius to pieces.

"WHERE DID HE GO?" Bellatrix screamed in frustration, striding along amongst the debris of the battle. The street was no longer recognisable as such; everywhere, there was fire, smoke, screams from the Muggles trapped inside their homes, who couldn't understand what was going on. Sirens were blaring, coming closer… Bella kicked bits of rubble out of her way in her anger.

"I told you he could apparate," said Malfoy. His hair was a mess, and he was bleeding from a gash on his cheek. "I told you—"

"SHUT UP!" Bella snapped. She swung out her fist, and yet another nose was broken with a _crack_. Malfoy let out a shriek, his nose had hardly healed, after all – and now it was a bleeding mess once more.

"I want him caught! WHERE DID HE GO? GET ME THE MAP!"

.

* * *

Sirius opened his eyes, as he felt solid ground beneath his feet. All around it was completely silent.

He was standing knee-deep in snow, in a small clearing that looked _nothing_ like where he had wanted to go. It was familiar, though – too familiar, really – but that was the farthest thing from Sirius' mind right now. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the pool of red that was melting the snow around him; there was a bit of him missing, he realised, plunging his hand downwards where a bit of flesh had landed, then checking himself over frantically.

Everything hurt; there was no telling which bit was missing – _ah_.

He'd found it.

A slice was missing from his calf, right next to the long gash along his leg, from that slashing curse earlier. No wonder he hadn't felt it, his right leg was a mess even without the missing parts; or maybe all the Cruciatus had finally fried his nervous system enough to stop feeling pain. In another time, Sirius would possibly have freaked out at the sight of all the blood and bits of muscle and sinew and bone that were clearly visible on his leg; but as things stood, he'd become used to it – he only cursed at midvoice, replacing the bit of his leg, feeling like he was assembling a life-size, 3D Sirius puzzle.

Ignoring the fact that it was bleeding profusely, he conjured up a tight bandage around it, and looked around warily. Soon enough, the Munchers would know where he was, unless he transformed into Padfoot.

Only, he _couldn't_.

He could feel it in his bones; he was shocked to the core by what had happened, and now he had gotten a breather, it was like he was made out of molten lead. Worse than that; he was exhausted, hurt badly enough to stay in bed for a week, and he doubted that he could keep this crazy pace up for long.

Moreover, he'd figured out where he'd landed, and it was very, _very_ bad.

Sirius cursed through gritted teeth. He _one_ place he'd wanted to keep the Death Eaters away from, was the very place he'd led them to. He could see Godric's Hall from here, just past the picturesque little valley that held Godric's Hollow, not a mile ahead.

_Pop._

_Oh __**bugger**__._

_Pop – pop – pop – BANG. _

Sirius closed his eyes, still gripping his wand. He'd wasted precious moments looking to complete his splinched leg, and now they were right around him, stepping out from behind trees and things.

"Oh, you didn't really think you'd get away so easily again, _did you_, little cousin?"

"Oh _shut up, Bella_," Sirius muttered wearily. Still, when he turned around to face her, his wand was at the ready. He flashed her a grin, in spite of the situation. If he was as good as dead, well... Sirius squared his shoulders. Wand blazing and all that, eh?

"Go on, then. I dare you," he prompted.

.

* * *

Half an hour.

For that exact amount of time, James had been plagued by the most horrid visions yet. He couldn't stand it, not knowing where Sirius was, trying to get out of the fix he'd gotten himself into, voluntarily this time. He couldn't bear not knowing anymore, and he had this irrational urge to just—go out and find him. He was sure he'd be able to, he was _certain_ of it.

But he didn't even know where to _start_ looking.

None of the places he saw flashing before his mind's eye were familiar, and the Aurors his dad had called hadn't even listened when he told them to go look for Sirius. He was dead, they told him. Missing for too long, and just a kid after all. _Nobody_ survived that long when the Death Eaters were after them, and the Ministry's already strained resources were being put to better use. Such as guarding those who still stood a chance.

James left the house at that very moment. Otherwise he'd have cursed the Aurors to bits. They'd left now, promising to double the patrols at Godric's Hollow, and to check in often to see if the Potters were alright. No, sadly they couldn't spare anyone to come stand guard, but they'd try and arrive as soon as the alarms were activated.

James was sitting in the back garden, which was roughly the size of a Quidditch pitch. The hoops were all snowed in, long stalagmites hanging from them like teeth on wide open mouths. Sirius would have liked to see them like this; he'd have had a blast smashing the icy formations to pieces with James' practice Bludgers…

Any other time, Sirius would have been here for the holidays, right where he belonged. With his family; not out there, fighting for his life at Merlin-knew-where. Not alone.

James closed his eyes as another vision surfaced, screaming filled his ears which didn't come from here – and suddenly he felt like he'd been sucked through a tube. There was a flash of white, and James nearly toppled off his seat. For a few moments, he could feel _exactly_ what Sirius was feeling, his body hurt all over – and then there was a distinct sense of dismay, of failure. Wherever Sirius had tried to go, it wasn't where he'd landed. He caught a glimpse of…

Blood, flowing freely onto the snow. Sirius was frantic for some reason… And then, he saw…

_What the hell?_

Godric's Hall. The Hollow, from up close…

_Sirius, what did you do?_

"Oh _bugger_," James breathed, running towards the front drive again. It was intact, save for Coop's wall… The Death Eaters hadn't been able to breach the wards at all. Not even a dent. "Where are you, Sirius, damn you?"

He was looking past Godric's Hollow, to the spot where he suspected Sirius had landed. He was past caring how he'd done that, or why, but he knew that this time he wasn't wrong. This time, Sirius was actually on the hill opposite.

As if to confirm it, a light-show erupted behind a cluster of trees. Without thinking twice about it, James transformed into his animal form – a huge white stag – and bounded towards the battle at top speed.

.

* * *

CRACK!

The bone-breaker curse impacted the top half of a tree, making it sway ominously. Sirius came out of a roll, transfiguring the falling stem into a huge mace and propelling it at the Death Eaters. Already the small cove he'd landed at was no better off than the Penarth street before; trees were smouldering, the snow no longer white and untouched – it was now a bloody mess, and he wasn't even exaggerating. A few Death Eaters had fallen, unconscious or dead, Sirius didn't give a care. He was, incredibly, still holding his own, even though he was grossly outnumbered and someone – Malfoy, he hazarded a guess – had been sent to go get Voldemort. Or reinforcements. Or something.

He was deaf out one ear and the other was ringing, as it had for a while now. All the blastings and things hadn't helped at all. It was out of sheer stubbornness that he was still standing, he figured, because the bleeding in his right leg hadn't let up, no matter that he'd conjured a bandage for it earlier; nothing hurt anymore, but he chalked that up to an extreme adrenalin rush. If he lived to see the next day, it would probably not be a very fun waking.

He raised his wand to cast a striking spell at Bella, who was even now, getting up from under that mace. She was harder to kill than the Wicked Witch of the West, _gah_ –

He didn't see the Cruciatus aimed at him from behind. Suddenly the world exploded in white-hot pain, and he knew he was done for—

"_Infenso Impingo_!" a familiar voice shouted. The waves of pain stopped coming. Sirius raised his head, eyes swimming.

There, standing not two feet away, was James, looking angrier than Sirius had ever seen him.

"How about you leave Sirius _alone_," he suggested, but it wasn't a question. Everyone stopped short in their tracks. One Death Eater dropped his wand.

Sirius thought that he would be happy to see his best friend.

He wasn't.

"The hell are you doing here?" he wheezed out.

"I thought you needed a hand." The said appendage was offered next, and Sirius took it, but didn't use it to get up. Instead, he pulled James down. A red beam just missed his spiky hair, and a distant _crack_ told Sirius that yet another tree had been felled.

"Get… going." Sirius managed, scrambling to his feet and trying to push James along.

Around them, the Death Eaters couldn't believe their eyes, and, Sirius was sure, their luck. They were stunned at having James right there all of a sudden, but that wouldn't last. Sirius had no idea what to do; his brain seemed to have jammed. All he could do, for a few excruciating breaths, was stare at Bellatrix, who was the only one who didn't freeze at the sight of their currently most wanted.

"Oh, little cousin," she crooned commiseratingly. "After all the bother you went through so we couldn't get to talk to your Jimmy, here he is… I'm sure you feel like an idiot." She too, looked the worse for wear; her hair was a rat's nest, and she was bleeding from all over it seemed. None of that seemed to stop her, either; she was as crazed as Sirius' mother, those last few days he'd spent at home.

"GET—THEM!" she screeched next. That snapped everyone into motion.

Sadly, it snapped all Death Eaters into motion at the same time.

James' eyes widened in alarm as too many spells to count whizzed towards them both, making the very air crackle with magic.

.

* * *

TBC.

Up next: Fireworks. And, um. You'll see. In the next one, there's sadly, very little running... well. Sort of. I like them when they run.

**Preview...**

The next few moments were a blur.

Sirius grabbed the front of James' robes, and he must have used some wandless levitation spell to throw him out of the way or something, because suddenly James had landed in the powder halfway down a slope, unharmed by any spell, and the whole forest exploded. Screams filled the air, which had caught fire. Death Eaters were running around, burning and trying to put themselves out in utter confusion.

James scrambled to his feet, looking wildly around for Sirius, past his cracked glasses.


	5. Part Five: Fireworks

**Runaway**

**By DracoNunquamDormiens**

In this chapter: Lots going on, It is extra long to make up for the long wait.

**Disclaimer: Refer to Ch. 1. Not mine, et cetera.**

**Part Five: Fireworks**

* * *

The next few moments were a blur.

Sirius grabbed the front of James' robes, and he must have used some wandless levitation spell to throw him out of the way or something, because next he knew, James had landed in the powder halfway down a slope, unharmed by any spell… while the whole forest exploded in a flash of fire.

Screams filled the air, which was ablaze; Death Eaters were running around in a burning frenzy, trying to put themselves out in utter confusion. They were only shadows amidst the smoke billowing every which way, as though a volcano had erupted up there.

James scrambled to his feet, sinking knee-deep into the snow and looking wildly around for Sirius, past his cracked, snow-covered glasses.

"_Sirius_?" He couldn't see him, couldn't sense where he was. Over at the top of the hill, James heard confused spells being cast, could see the beams criss-crossing among the trees.

Of Sirius there was no sign.

_Could__ it__ be__…_ He didn't want to think it, but -

_Could it be that he had stayed up there? _

"_Sirius_!" James called, louder now and rather more panicky. He started scrambling back up the slope, sinking into the soft snow, suddenly certain that Sirius had never made it down.

He didn't care that the Death Eaters were all up there, or that every inch of the hilltop was burning. All he cared about was to find his best friend. Sirius was already hurt, he needed help, needed to go to the hospital-

"SIRIUS!" he bellowed, and amidst the confusion on the hilltop, some of the Death Eaters stopped short, looking for the source of his voice. James paid them no mind.

"Wuh?" It was little more than a wheeze. It was also coming from somewhere a few feet below James' line of sight, further downhill from where he'd landed.

"Sirius!" James exclaimed as he turned towards the voice and looked downhill. The next moment, his face fell; Sirius was over half buried in snow, but all around him, the pristine white was getting soaked in red; he wasn't even making to get up, just looking at James strangely through bloodshot, unfocused eyes. Despite the evident, terrible urgency of the situation, he looked... amused. "Sirius... Gods, we've got to get you out of here."

"You go," was the slur he received in response. James scrambled down to reach Sirius' side, stumbling more than he was running. "Go home, James."

"_We're_ going," James corrected, shaking his head and spraying snow everywhere. "Together. As in, you're coming with me."

Sirius shook his own head in response, though it was more of a waggle. James ignored him, plunged his hands down into the snow, and started looking for a way to get Sirius out. He had to find both their wands first.

"What—what did you do?" James asked, if only to keep him talking. There was no immediate answer. "_Sirius_, answer me - what _did_ you do?"

"Dunno... sort of... let their spells crash into each other…"

"I only remember the lights."

"You would… Prongs," Sirius murmured, sounding like he was about to fall asleep. It made alarm bells go off in James' head. He knelt next to Sirius, sinking to his chest in the snow. "Caught like a deer…"

James snorted at the feeble joke, but it was against his will. Now his panic from earlier had subsided a bit, it made way for quite another set of feelings and emotions. His mind, which had jammed up until now, started working overtime, assessing the situation and coming to a handful of terrible conclusions.

First, Sirius was badly hurt, how badly remained to be seen, but—everywhere he touched, he touched a sticky warm substance he decided against speculating about. Worse still, now they were together, James could feel, like an extension of himself, that Sirius didn't have much time left. His throat closed over, finding his wand and summoning Sirius' with it. As soon as his fingers closed around it, he knew something was wrong. This wand wasn't the one he remembered-

"You…" Sirius managed to grit out, "You're…"

"What? I'm what?" James asked urgently. The voices all around were screaming less and sounding rather more intelligible. The Death Eaters were recovering from the blow Sirius had dealt them.

And they sounded _angry_.

They had to get out of here, James knew. But it was evident to him that Sirius couldn't walk. Worse still, it looked like he didn't even want to try.

"You… you're… standing on my foot," Sirius slurred. "Gerroff."

"Sorry." James stepped aside, plunging his hands down into the snow again to try and find Sirius' arm. "We have to—"

"_You_ have to," Sirius corrected. "I'm staying, James. I'm tired."

"You're insane."

"They'd agree with you."

"I'm not leaving you here, don't be stupid," James snapped. He had found Sirius' arm and proceeded to peel him from the ground, which looked ready to swallow him whole.

Sirius grunted something unintelligible. He was only conscious because James was talking to him and pulling him up, but James knew that given the chance, Sirius would pass out right then and not give a care what happened to him after.

"How'd you get here?" James found that Sirius' wand - this strange, unfamiliar one - worked just fine for him too, and after, getting Sirius out of the snow was easy. In a matter of a few flicks and jabs at the air, thick mist surrounded them and their every last track was masked with charms.

"Didn't mean to," Sirius murmured, so low James could barely hear him. Being an Animagus, his hearing and sense of smell were overdeveloped, but still it was hard to hear what Sirius was saying. "Had to run..."

"Well, it's not exactly over," James muttered, now sitting Sirius up. "There's still some more running to be done here."

"Nuugh."

"Yeah. Let's get you home now," James replied, hoisting Sirius up. It was hard to see what all he'd come off with, but he didn't need to be a Healer to be able to tell that Sirius was dying.

"Don't," Sirius slurred out next.

"Shut up, Sirius." James adjusted one of Sirius' arms around his neck, getting ready to haul him onto his back. "Oy! Stop it-" But Sirius was pushing him away, staggering onto his feet.

"I said. _Don't_." Sirius' tone was final, angry even, and James was so surprised he couldn't react. Instead, he stared at him uncomprehendingly, his ears picking up the voices of Death Eaters who were already trying to track them down. They didn't have much time. But Sirius seemed to have lost all his notion of time... Along with his marbles.

"Wha-"

"No matter where I go, they're there," Sirius said, and he was shaking his head as if to clear it, finally acknowledging the bunch of swearing, toasty witches and wizards who seemed to have started combing the area; it wouldn't be long before they were spotted. He sounded urgent when he spoke next.

"Un... Unless I go dog, but I can't, not anymore. It's a Trace of some sort and I can't get it off... _Nothing __works_, James. They always know where I am. So, you go that way," he said next, firmly and sounding - momentarily- almost coherent. He was pointing downwards, towards the path James had intended to take. "I'll go that way, they'll probably catch up with me over there..." Sirius pointed down the other side, to the river and away from where James wanted them to go. He understood what Sirius was on about, sort of, and what he was trying to do - sort of - and shook his head, horrified. "Just go home."

"Shut up, Sirius," James said again, grabbing his arm once more and yanking him towards Godric's Hollow. Sirius struggled against his hold, protesting but capable of little more than disconnected sounds. James had to fairly drag him away, making snow swirl up to cover their progress. It was a flimsy cover, but it would have to do.

"No- no, James, _please_," he argued, even as James leaned him against a tree to keep from being spotted. Both their breaths were coming in heavy gasps, and Sirius' was hitched. "Please... Just go."

"I'm not leaving you and that's that," James hissed urgently. Sirius just watched him, half frustrated, half touched. "C'mon-" Sirius moved- but again, it wasn't in any direction that was convenient to James.

"Ow! You dolt- Choo do that for?" Sirius had just _headbutted _him, so hard James was seeing stars. Not a second later, he was seeing much more than that. James gasped as memories that didn't belong to him took over.

Sirius' memories, or rather, flashes of memories, flooded him. He saw things how Sirius had seen them, had felt them. He saw flashes of Voldemort, aiming his wand at him, heard snatches of sentences, as disconnected as the images, the feelings jumbled haphazardly in his mind, such as Sirius himself recalled them.

Now he was running down deserted streets, Death Eaters in pursuit; the next instant, he was before Alfie's house; the next, a letter flashed before his mind's eye; he saw fields, a newspaper in some kitchen, a house in shambles even as Lucius closed in on him; he saw through Sirius' eyes as a dog, how Death Eaters passed him without a second glance, saw a girl, now standing, now bleeding to death. Some images were familiar, others, the more gory ones, he'd wondered about for days.

It made no sense, but then, it didn't need to. James and Sirius were one in two bodies, and the link they had was doing its job, completing a chilling story in the space of a single breath.

Two words rang clearly in his mind: _Tristram__ Trace_. Where had he heard that before?

James stared at Sirius, horrified, even as the world dissolved around him and his knees gave way. A dizzying, sick feeling gripped James, and he couldn't stand up. Sirius watched him for a moment, and James knew that he was having trouble focusing, that he was beyond exhausted... That he wasn't going to move. Not to run, anyway.

_Put __your __cloak__ on,__ James. __It's __you__ they__ want.__ Hide_. The voice rang in his head, calm as you please, placid even. _Now_.

Not a second later, a handful of Death Eaters had apparated around them, he was under his cloak, leaning against a tree for support. His mind was still reeling from the massive amount of information that had just been jammed into his brain, struggling to understand what Sirius had tried to tell him with the explanatory headbutt of doom, while trying to keep very quiet under his cloak; headbutt or no, he needed to get them out of this mess, before Sirius got himself in even more trouble.

Oh yes, there was _still_ room for improvement in that regard, and James could tell he was planning to drive them bonkers. It was his speciality, after all, and his last resort right now; Sirius didn't even have a wand – James was still holding on to it – and James suspected Sirius wouldn't have been able to do much with it even if he'd had it.

Bellatrix, a very dishevelled one that looked like someone had tried to turn her into a waffle and left her in the pan for too long – there was a criss-crossing pattern of soot all over her – was towering over Sirius, a handful of feet away. And she was angrier than James had ever seen her.

"I will _kill__ you_!"

Sirius smiled wanly.

"Go right ahead," he said, and even now he somehow managed to sound completely at ease. It drove Bellatrix to distraction.

"Where's Potter?" she snarled, jabbing the tip of her wand at him.

Sirius grinned and shrugged. In the half-light of the wands shining on him, he looked like a corpse. A rather mangled, crazed one; James' mind was racing, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle Sirius had given him together while simultaneously trying to figure out a way out of this huge mess. Bellatrix' threat was very real, and even if Sirius didn't seem to care about it, James did. But he could hardly keep upright while his mind was going through the host of memories and thoughts flooding it. He couldn't even think straight –

"Are you _deaf_?" The screech made James jump and knock into the tree he was hiding behind. He feared for an instant the Death Eaters would hear him, but they were too focused on Sirius to notice.

"No. I just wish I were..." Sirius wasn't exactly helping himself here; in a blinking, Bellatrix had him by the front of his coat and was shaking him roughly.

"Where – is – _Potter_?"

"Oh you know, somewhere..." Sirius landed in the snow next, chuckling despite the blow he'd just gotten. Bellatrix stomped over, grabbed him by he sodden front of his coat again. "He _does_ live around here, you know. Ask the neighbours."

"Just wait until the Dark Lord is done with you," she snarled, and Sirius laughed; a barking guffaw escaped him that was neither hysterical nor crazed – he sounded like Bellatrix had just told him a hilarious joke.

"You think that's funny, do you?" she spat. Sirius nodded. "You think you're so clever, giving the Dark Lord the slip – he _let _you get this far, you Mudblood-loving piece of dirt. He _wanted_ you to find Potter, and that's exactly what you did. No-one can escape him, least of all _you_. Now, do you _still_ think that's funny?"

"Priceless," Sirius answered, coughing out some blood. Bellatrix though, was off on a bit of a rant.

"He wants you for some reason. And you won't escape again," she said nastily, grinning at him like a hungry hyena. "I promise you – you'll suffer more than you could imagine."

"Will I get to stop listening to you? Because your mindless drivel is already making me suffer more than I could imagine." James gave an inward groan. Sirius had no self-preservation skills at _all_.

James stared at the scene, as his mind helpfully provided countless images of Sirius' run from her over the past handful of days, answering whatever questions he could have had on the matter. Now James knew the relevant bits of it, it was a miracle he'd lasted this long; he wasn't in any condition to stand, and he still needled his cousin as though this were one of Hogwarts' hallways.

"Give me Potter! _Now_!" This couldn't carry on.

"Make me."

Or last.

Sirius landed in a heap in the snow, which wasn't surprising. James tensed for a leap-

"_Crucio_!"

This wasn't surprising either - in fact, it was expected to some extent. The instant James snapped into motion, something clicked in his mind.

Things fell into place; he understood. All of a sudden, he knew what to do and how. He darted forward-

The Cruciatus never hit.

.

* * *

"They'll catch up. They'll _catch __up,__ James_... They always do." Sirius was leaning against a tree, panting like he'd run a mile, when in reality it had only been a few yards. In the background, the confused shouting had resumed, as the Death Eaters - now joined with their still able comrades from the hilltop - we're furiously trying to fight off the trees James had charmed into motion and sent after them. From where they were, a few score feet away, it looked like the entire forest was on the move.

"They _won't_ get us, _trust__ me_." James said firmly, trying to sound calm as he cast a few bandaging spells on Sirius, to keep him from bleeding to death before they got away; his newly-formulated plan required him to be alive to work. "Now stay still, you're still leaking-"

Sirius though, had made up his mind; he argued feebly but no less vehemently, tried to get up, to pull the cloak off him. Then again, James had made up his mind as well - and he was as stubborn as Sirius, _and _he had a plan. He bandaged Sirius up despite his protests, which were reduced to winces and gasps before he was done. Once he could be certain all major leaks had been plugged, he hauled Sirius to his feet in one fluid movement. Sirius groaned, knees buckling.

"You're not dying, you hear me?" James informed him firmly. Only, Sirius was not in a state fit to answer. Or stand. Or do anything except pass out. "Not tonight, not before I do. _Promise_."

"Mugh."

"_Promise_!"

"... 'Mright." That was good enough for James, even if Sirius had said it just to end the argument.

"C'mon, then." In a practised, fluid motion, James had hoisted Sirius onto his back and strapped him to it; he waved his wand again and turned him into his dog self.

Instantly, there was cursing from behind the trees.

"Not _again_!" Bellatrix sounded frustrated beyond anything. She wasn't the only one. "Track him! He can't get away! We can't lose him! He's half-dead, FIND HIM!" James pocketed his cloak, disillusioned Sirius and himself...And went stag.

.

* * *

Aurors were popping up all over the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, while the Death Eaters tried to make sense of what, exactly, had just happened.

They had most certainly not had the best of days - the Black brat had given them a hell of a fight, before they chased him down to Godrics' Hollow – who in their right minds would put a wand in his hand? - and then Potter showed up and in short succession, they were engulfed in fire, battered and beaten by moving trees... And now, they had to run from the Aurors.

And endure Bellatrix' wrath on top of it.

There wasn't a single one amongst them who didn't have a score to settle with the Black brat - he had ruined their Yule party, he had gotten their Christmas to be cancelled, which they'd spent running after him in the cold and snow rather than warm and happy at home; some hadn't seen their families for a week, and if they didn't catch him soon, they'd be still out in the freezing cold, battered and grumpy, come New Year's.

It would be _easy_, they'd been told - the kid had had a Tristram Trace implanted that was nearly impossible to break, and the mother had kept a Tracking Map custom-made for just that purpose. But the kid had managed to vanish into thin air over and over again, just as they were _this_ close to capture.

Nobody had ever lasted this long, not with the focused search going on for him; the Dark Side's Ministry contacts were looking, under the guise of the MLE; posters had been placed at Muggle public places, and after the last attempt, the press had been led to believe Sirius Black wasn't missing, but had run away from home to join the Dark Lord and had killed that Muggle girl in Penarth earlier. There was no proof for it and given a trial he'd walk - but it would turn his chances for help from the wizarding community to zero.

Still they tried to capture him and ended up grabbing at thin air, and for witches and wizards used to _always_ having the upper hand, no matter the situation, this was most unusual and most - _most_ - vexing.

However, capture wasn't on their minds any longer. They had had trouble enough trying to catch him, had already had to endure, not the Dark Lord's, but the _mother's_ wrath enough times to loathe him even if they would, under any other circumstances, have shown some manner of respect for a pureblood wizard of the Black family; even his own mother had told Bellatrix she wanted him dead, and though the Dark Lord's plans for him required him to be alive, the Death Eaters were more inclined to humour Walburga Black than him. The kid was already dying after all, they couldn't be blamed if he arrived before the Dark Lord in bits.

Collateral damage, as it were.

Their plan had been to do what Voldemort had wanted Black to do, and deliver the Potter kid alive and Black dead; they figured the Dark Lord wouldn't really mind if one hadn't made it, as long as he got what he wanted in the end. This was a war, after all- people died all the time. That was the whole _point_ of it.

"Godric's Hall!" Bellatrix screeched, oblivious to the criss-crossing beams of spells whizzing past around them. They had felled a few of those damned walking trees and turned them into a makeshift bunker, while the greater part of the Death Eaters was duelling the Aurors and villagers who had dared stand up to them. She was a firm believer that anyone who was true to the Dark Lord had no reason to fear death or capture, that truth to the cause gave one a special sort of immunity from spells. So while left and right her companions fell, she paid them no mind and strode around as though she owned the place.

Right now, Rabastan, Lucius and herself were deep in an angry, hissed conversation.

"I don't know how the hell he does it," she hissed, "But, let's look at it objectively. He's dying..."

"Small blessings," muttered Lucius, and cast a shield charm over their heads, though they weren't the main targets of the battle. Others were taking care of it; there were enough of them, after all, and just a handful of Aurors. There _was_ indeed a sort of safety in numbers.

"Shut it!" snapped Bellatrix, "The Potter brat wouldn't take him anywhere else, though he might try St. Mungo's."

"Why doesn't Black show up on the map, though?" Rabastan wondered, puzzled. "He should, unless he's dead - and we've thought we killed him enough times already, only to have him pop up again."

"Yeah, but this time it could be true. He could hardly stand earlier."

"We'll check the Potter house." Rodolphus decided. It didn't come as a surprise; he always did her bidding... As did everyone with an ounce of survival sense. Bellatrix was as dangerous to her enemies as she was to her so-called friends; anything that went against what she wanted, was labelled by her as disloyalty to the cause and punished severely. Nobody had seen the Dark Lord mind this sort of behaviour, or Bellatrix punished for it, which made her keep everyone under her thumb. All in the Dark Lord's name, of course.

"If he's dead, there has to be a body. If he's not, we need to collect James Potter anyway. If we hand him in, the Dark Lord won't mind if Black doesn't show up, and the kid can die for all we care."

"But I want to _kill__ him_," Bellatrix pouted, even as the Dark Mark shot up into the sky.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, you'll get to do it, if we get the chance." This seemed to please her, because she grinned widely as she grabbed the map and disapparated. The others followed, calling retreat, and moments later, the Aurors and villagers daft enough to fight back were standing alone in the smoke and fog. The Dark Side had their names; they'd pay for this insolence later.

.

* * *

The large white stag bounded out of a stretch of forest, crossing wards that made it glow momentarily. With the snow as a backdrop, it was as good as invisible the next instant. There was nobody to see it, though; most of the village was either out on the streets or hurrying home, while alarms sounded their warning: Death Eaters had been spotted, the signs of battle could still be clearly seen on the hill opposite the valley. Whoever wasn't rushing to help the Aurors was locking themselves in, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.

The stag cantered to the side of a house at the top of Godric's Hill, oblivious to the din from the town below. The next moment, it shifted, turning into a dishevelled boy. One who seemed weighed down by an invisible, heavy something.

James adjusted Sirius on his back, making for the back door. No sooner had he stumbled inside, that his parents had hurried over, alarmed and ashen-faced.

"James, _where__ have __you __been_?"

"We thought you had gotten caught – the Death Eaters are out there again!"

"What on _earth_ made you leave the house?" his mother asked, hurrying forward as he unstrapped Sirius' bulky form from his back. "There's a battle out there! My God, that's blood – are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, Mum. It's not mine. Help me -"

"What is this?"

James let the motionless form slide onto the kitchen floor, where it blended with the tiles a moment later, then turned back and locked the door securely, while answering over his shoulder.

"Sirius."

"_Where_?" Betty was instantly heading for the window. "Not a fake one again?"

"No," James answered, "The real deal this time. Nobody is _that_ thick-headed."

"Where is he then? Is he out there?"

"Right there," James answered. "Give me a hand, Dad." He rapped Sirius' head with his wand, and the dog, black, thin and with tufts of fur gone, could be seen.

"You've got to be _joking_-" Betty whispered, aghast.

"That's one large dog, son."

"Tell me about it. And I said Remus had furry problems... He isn't half as heavy to carry."

"Dear Lord..." Betty had come closer, had spotted the blood-soaked bandages on Padfoot's torso and legs. James leaned in next to her, worried. Sirius had passed out the second James hoisted him onto his back, and he wasn't stirring.

"He's breathing at least—he _is_ breathing, right?" James asked worriedly. Now he was home, safe from an attack for the moment, now that help was here, fear took the chance and gripped him.

"Yes, I believe so… Why is he a dog again?"

"Dad, he's got a spell on him."

"Yeah I can see that, he's a _dog_." James stared at his dad uncomprehendingly for a moment, then shook his head.

"No, it's... He can turn into a dog, it's another kind of spell what's the problem. Some sort of tracking spell. Whenever he goes human, they find him." If his parents were surprised to hear this, they hid it remarkably well.

"They...? The—the Death Eaters?"

"Find him, yeah. We need to get it off, and we need to get it off without the Death Eaters finding out where he is. They'd be on him like... like stink on cheese."

"Well, don't leave him lying there – we need to get him upstairs. To the spare room." Betty had recovered from her initial shock, and was gently moving Sirius' canine form around, as though half-dead surrogate kids turned animals popped by every so often; she was all business, calm and in control of the situation where James was a bundle of nerves. "Take him upstairs, honey. I'll be up in a second, I think we have some bandages over here, and… and herbs, and I think we kept some of the potions from when James broke his arm in the Summer..."

James and Coop wasted no time obeying. Coop conjured a stretcher, and together they levitated the large dog to the room next to James'.

"Alphard told me about something like this, a few days ago, remember?"

"He told you Sirius was coming?" James asked, helping his dad lie Sirius on the guest room bed.

"Not quite." Coop sounded pressured as he tried to recall everything. "I didn't understand it at all. He told me of that old spell they used on Azkaban prisoners before they brought the Dementors there. Something to track them, no matter where they went."

"The Tristram Trace!" James exclaimed. That was where he'd heard the name before!

"Yes, I thought the whole situation with Sirius had made him lose his head, or that he wished he could use that spell to find him."

"_Dad_." James was forcibly trying to remain calm. "You're _rambling_. What's that spell about?" Coop though, simply ignored him, adjusting Padfoot on the bed and making sure he was still breathing.

"Some old families used to cast it, when they had unruly children, or simply to keep track of them, but usually it was broken before they went to school, it's a very old spell, you see…"

"Can you break it?" James interrupted impatiently.

"I think I might, but... he needs to be human for that."

"He's pretty badly off, he won't be able to transform." James took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll do it. What else do you need?" He raised his wand, ready to cast the spell-

"Wait -"

"_What_?"

"I do need to get some things."

"Doesn't _everyone_? Gah." James waited impatiently, while his mum clattered around downstairs, gathering things together with a house-elf's help and his dad turned his study upside-down, looking for Merlin-knew-what. Finally he returned, with a leather bag, the sort Healers used for house calls.

"All right son, go ahead." James hesitated before casting, afraid of what they'd see when he did, but he took a deep breath and a second later Sirius' body shifted, turned into...

"Sweet Merlin..."

That was a way to describe it. Sirius was very pale, and now he could get a good look in, James' certainty that he'd die at any moment only grew. His lips were dry and cracked, his head and neck caked in glistening, congealing blood. The coat he was wearing looked like it was originally sort of brown, but had acquired a dark red tint to it that made it look like someone had splattered paint on it. His clothes were torn and wet, letting them see deathly white skin wherever it wasn't caked in blood. It was frightening to watch, and for a moment, both just stood there, horrified and motionless.

"The _trace_, dad. They'll be here soon, go on," James urged. His dad snapped out of it.

"Yes, quite right." Coop set to work, casting various complicated-looking spells on Sirius to detect where the Tristram Trace had been placed, while James shifted nervously from one foot to the other, watching Sirius for any signs of life with apprehension and worried that the Death Eaters might break through the wards any minute now. He had to help his dad flip Sirius over. Sirius was struggling to breathe, and very cold to the touch.

"Oh, dear…" Coop said, when one spot on Sirius' neck started to glow. "They put it there." James wondered what was so bad about breaking the spell, but when his when his dad had to cut through skin to get to it, it was abundantly clear what was so bad about it. He exposed a shiny something a moment later.

"What's that?" James asked, aghast.

"It's… it looks like... a button. It's a crest."

"That damned old hag!" James exclaimed angrily. They hadn't just cast something - they'd literally put something inside him!

"Put up a silencing charm. And stop shouting, I can't think when you do that."

"What's going on?" Betty had arrived, every last healing supply in her arms, and the gasp she let out next wasn't surprising. Coop did short work of explaining the situation, while he looked for tweezers to pull the thing out. James was simply incapable, shaking with anger and outrage.

"Hold him still, he won't like this at all," he instructed. James didn't need telling twice, much less when Sirius started thrashing about the second Coop started casting spell after spell- and then, finally, he pulled out a tiny golden disk, where the Black crest had been engraved. Sirius let out something like a whimper and went completely limp.

"Give me that." James demanded at once, striding across the room and turning a vase into a... very accurate likeness of Sirius on a broomstick. He was shaking with anger and fear, appalled by what he'd learned and rattled to the core at the same time. "Go to the North sea," he ordered through gritted teeth, attaching the Trace to the broomstick with a permanent sticking charm. "When those bastards come, go as deep underwater as you can go, and _stay__there_." He watched the effigy fly away, soaring across the darkened sky. Not a handful of seconds had passed, when shadows started moving outside, and moments later, they disappeared from the edge of the wards all around the house. He fancied he could hear Bellatrix exclamation of, "Ooh I see him! Over there! After him!"

With some luck, they wouldn't bother them again so soon.

Only, luck was ever so hard to come by lately.

When James turned around, the sight that met his eyes was something out of a nightmare. His parents had started by undressing Sirius, who was out of it again. James sucked in a breath, paling, if possible, even further.

"Maybe you should wait downstairs, son."

He shook his head resolutely.

"I'm not going anywhere. Just tell me what I need to do."

.

* * *

"He'll be all right, won't he?"

It was the first thing out of James' mouth since they had started patching Sirius up hours earlier. It was the middle of the night now, and all three Potters were exhausted. But it had been worth it: Sirius was resting at last, under the watchful eye of their most trusted house-elf, so they could try and unwind a little. James wouldn't, though. He was fretful and jumpy and itching to get back upstairs. "Can't we take him to St. Mungo's?"

"They'd arrest him for that thing with the Muggle girl, dear," Betty answered tiredly. She looked ashen-faced and careworn as she sipped her tea. "It's in the paper, a special late edition. He's wanted for murder."

"_What_?" James groaned in frustration. He was close to tears with despair, frayed to the last nerve. "What sort of unzipped moron would blame _him_ for killing anyone?"

Lots, apparently. From being, first a tragic disappearance and then a casualty of war, Sirius had gone on to being a young and very deranged Death Eater who had escaped a caring, loving home to join the Dark Side, James learned upon skimming the paper. It was completely surreal.

"There's got to be something we can do," he said tiredly. "Sirius would never kill anyone, anyone with eyes can see that. It's _ridiculous_."

"I'll try and get in touch with Dumbledore," his dad offered, taking the paper from James' hands, where he was holding it in a death grip. "He'll be all right; but I fear there's nothing to be done for it tonight."

"Will Dumbledore hear him out, though? We sort of... glued his furniture to the ceiling before we left school for Christmas break." Coop couldn't help chuckling at that, wrapping his arms around his suddenly even more worried, remorseful son. He was so grown-up in many ways, but at times like this, Coop saw he was still just a boy, afraid and lost and in need for protection and help. "And all his things too, exactly as they were..." James murmured thickly, burying his face in Coop's shoulder. "We even put the portraits upside-down... It was _brilliant_." And it could well be the last time they ever did something like that together. Coop held James a bit tighter, trying to be comforting and to sound more optimistic than he felt.

"I don't believe he'll mind that," he said soothingly. "Albus secretly loves your antics... And you'll be back to raising hell together before you know it. He will have to hear me out – and he's a good man, he knows truth when he sees it. Right now though, it's more important to make sure Sirius stays safe with us and gets better again. We'll worry about the rest later."

.

* * *

It wasn't until New Year's Eve, that Sirius woke up for longer than a few minutes. James hadn't left his side for any length of time, except for loo breaks and short naps, and he'd started wondering if he'd ever wake up at all. He had been sitting on his usual chair by Sirius' bed, alternating his activity pool between staring at the swirling snow outside and the motionless form of his best friend on the bed, just as he'd been doing for the past five days.

He'd been doing a lot of thinking during that time, a lot of fretting and worrying, and though Sirius had been declared stable the previous morning, there had been little change since; Sirius didn't even move on his own, and sometimes it looked like he wasn't even breathing. He was covered in enough bandages to make King Tut's mother proud, and the bits of exposed skin were chalk-white.

Sirius had woken up for short periods every day to be fed or to drink potions, but it never lasted long, and it was always miserable; sometimes he'd recognise James, sometimes he'd try and scoot away from him, convinced he'd been captured by the Death Eaters and needed to run again; and he'd often have nightmares, made worse by fevers that had kept all three Potters up all night for days.

He hadn't stirred all afternoon, though, and James hadn't either. He'd read Sirius a few letters from Moony and Peter to pass the time, to have something that wasn't a tense, worried silence, but they were both mourning Sirius' alleged death, and the letters were depressing. What made it worse was the fact that James had been advised by Dumbledore, who had believed Coop's account and was helping them, not to tell anyone Sirius was alive, for fear of another attack, and 'anyone' included Remus and Peter. There were no firecalls, either, since James' dad had disconnected the Floo all over the house except for his office. James wouldn't have known what to tell them either way, if he was faced with them right now. He couldn't comfort them, or get his own hopes up; not even Madam Pomfrey ever had good news for him, she was an excellent Healer and still had her work cut out for her. It simply didn't look good, no matter how he tried to look at it.

He had told Sirius a few jokes and talked to him as though he were awake, though, reminiscing on last schoolyear's adventures; he'd even played some of Sirius' favourite music on the wireless for a little while, but Sirius hadn't so much as twitched.

Now it was nearly midnight and Sirius was stirring at _last_, slowly lapsing back into consciousness. James sprung from his chair as though fitted with springs, perching on the side of the bed.

"Welcome back," he said, carefully keeping his voice soft, as Madam Pomfrey had instructed. She'd come from Hogwarts several times a day to do her healing on Sirius. He still looked half dead, but... He was recovering and that was what mattered.

Sirius was looking at him, but not really seeing him, James knew. He was too weak to block him out any longer, and James could once more sense exactly what his friend was thinking or feeling, or looking at, which right now was a very messy-haired, bespectacled blur he was trying to match a name to.

Suddenly, a sharp whistling sound was heard outside, followed by a blast. Sirius, who'd been blinking slowly ahead, gave a start and tried to get up, away from what he was certain was a volley of spells. James inwardly cursed, but when he spoke, his tone was gentle and reassuring.

"It's all right, mate. Just fireworks," he said, and Sirius' eyes fixed themselves on him again, wide and alarmed. He still wasn't focusing well, which James had gotten used to. It always took him a long time to realise where he was and who was around. His next, instinctive movement was also predictable. "No, no, no. No going dog here - you'll lose the bandages and mum spent _ages_ getting them on proper. Take it easy, it's okay."

Sirius stared at James as if he were seeing him for the first time. He'd recognised him at last. James forced out a bright, winning smile.

"Yes, it's me. You can start celebrating now."

Sirius just blinked slowly, but he wasn't about to pass out and that was enough to get James' feelings to soar. Any other time he'd have been loud and things, but the past few days had taught him patience, and he needed a lot of it now. As though it were a rehearsed play, Sirius moved on to the next bit of a dialogue James could play out in his sleep. It was always the same, and Madam Pomfrey said it was due to bloodloss and one too many whacks to the head, and that it would go away on its own when he got better.

"There's this… this trace…" Sirius slurred out, when he seemed satisfied that it was indeed James before him. His voice was low and raspy; James reached for warm tea he kept at the ready for this purpose.

"Not anymore," he answered, in much the same way he answered every time. "Dad got rid of it, remember? Just relax for a bit. You're safe here, you've been safe for days. There's no Trace, no danger."

"What is this place?" came next, two cups of tea later. It took Sirius a long time just to decide that James was right... and that he had no clue where he was. Then again, he'd not been awake long enough to get to a different sort of conversation before now. It was music to James' ears.

"My room, don't you recognise it? Well, it's quite technically _our_ room now, but-"

"It's… different," Sirius established. He sounded far away, but his thoughts were a jumble and he was trying to sort them out, tallying the room he remembered with this one.

"Yes, well. I told dad how much of a mess you were to live with, so he took down a wall," James explained, gesturing around the - now much, much larger- bedroom without losing his cheerful exterior. "This used to be one of the spare rooms, you see. Well, two actually, I convinced them you needed lots and lots of space so we have a game zone now. You can thank me later for it. Dad put your bed here, as you can see... Mine is over there, just like you remember, or will remember when you get better... Mum brought a second wardrobe in too. It's so you can put your things inside," he added brightly. "Mum wanted you to have your own room, but we both know you'd have ended up here anyhow, so... we changed things a little." Sirius blinked, looking at the large room and trying to follow what James had told him.

"It's... different." Sirius repeated. James deflated, then shrugged.

"Yeah, I reckon it is."

Outside, the New Year's firework show had started. Godric's Hollow wasn't such an old village for nothing; the battle of a few days prior had done little to mar the festivities, and celebrations went on as scheduled. If anything, the Hollow's inhabitants celebrated harder, spitting the darkness in the eye, as it were. Sirius had gone quiet, but he was awake still, and he was looking out at the clear, starry sky and the bursts of sparks that lit it up. James widened the window, so they could both watch the fireworks, the distant music and laughter of the village trailing faintly to their ears. He adjusted Sirius' pillows so he could be more comfortable, but almost as soon as he returned to his seat he was immersed in his own thoughts; they were hopeful, for once, and he could appreciate yet again how important Sirius was to him. Just having him awake and nearby changed everything, for the better.

"Prongs?" Sirius' voice was little more than a whisper.

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"You'd know better than me. For everything you did... you're doing... Thanks."

"It's not a problem. I should thank you, for the warnings. Saved our collective Potter backsides."

They fell quiet again, watching the brightly-coloured sparks in various shapes and forms light up the sky, the loud "_Ooh's_" and "_Aaah's_" of the crowd outside the only sound in the room.

"I can't stay here," Sirius murmured next, breaking the silence.

"What? What's wrong with this? Is it the bed? We can move it in the morning-"

"They'll come, James. You've got enough problems as it is. I should go."

"Shut up and don't be stupid, and lie back down before Mum comes running up here."

"But… but the Death Eaters…"

"They _were_ here, _and_ they're _gone_. And," James added, gently pushing Sirius back down against his pillows, "You aren't going anywhere. You're staying. Here. For good."

Sirius blinked. If anyone half-dead could look gob-smacked, that was him. James snorted. What did he expect, _honestly_?

"Well," James answered the unspoken question, "you can't stay at Hogwarts all the time, it's not fashionable."

"Wasn't gonna."

"Too right you weren't. You're staying _here_, where I can make sure you're not in any kind of trouble where I can't be too."

Sirius snorted, but he clearly didn't find it amusing.

"What? Look at the state of you. I leave you alone for five minutes, and you see what happened." He expected Sirius to snort or chuckle, not look miserable.

"I'm sorry." Now that was new. James frowned at Sirius' suddenly contrite expression.

"Whatever for?"

"Figured you'd know why. Kinda... threw it out there to see if it stuck."

James smiled. "It didn't. There's nothing to be sorry for, mate. Mum and dad are thrilled to have you here, and so am I."

"_Why_?" It was a loaded question, but James had learned more than just patience in the last few days. He'd also learned how Sirius' mind worked now, he knew some of what he'd been through, and he knew how to talk to him... And most importantly, when. And it wasn't a topic to discuss right now.

"With you here, I won't be the only guilty party anymore." He grinned. Sirius turned back to look out the window, bemused. James watched him for a moment, waiting for him to argue back, like he knew he would. Or should. He didn't.

"Padfoot?"

"Wha?"

"You're staying. That's the end of it."

Neither said anything for a long time. Sirius, because he couldn't formulate a valid argument and was too slow still to be able to react properly. He was torn between gratitude and heartache, disbelief at the fact he didn't have to run any longer, and half willing to believe this was just a nice dream; James, because he was exercising his newly discovered powers as the guru of patient friendship. Outside, the countdown to 1976 started.

"_Ten!__ Nine! __Eight!__"_

"Sirius?" He ventured. Sirius had all but fused himself with the pillows and looked close to dozing.

"Hmm?"

"_Three! TWO! ONE!"_

"Happy new year, Padfoot."

Sirius smiled wanly. It was tiny, but it was _there_, and it made James' hopes rise more than anything.

Just as he'd felt nothing was worth celebrating when Sirius went missing before Christmas, now he could sympathise with his neighbours celebration completely; it was 1976. It was a new year, a new start... And he had his brother back. It made everything worthwhile, even if things were far from all right. They still had to clear his name and decide where to go from here, but they were together and that was what made everything better. Dumbledore would help, he'd promised as much - but that was all for later. Right now, what mattered was this moment and what it meant for them both: a future. A better one.

Sirius felt it too. He was still smiling.

"Happy new year to you too, Prongs."

.

* * *

TBC.

Up next: A trial. And Snape in tentacles. And Deranged!James. Stay tuned.


	6. Part 6: Second Son

**Runaway**

**By DracoNunquamDormiens**

Note: This isn't a comeback. It's me trying to finish what I started. Let's hope I'll manage because ye gods. Right?

Originally in this chapter: James was going to become deranged, Sirius was getting outlawed, Snape was getting tentacles, and McGonagall was getting a twitch. Not in that order.

However! After so long, I wanted to establish (or would it be, re-establish?) the cast somewhat, and try as I might I could never give Snape the tentacles. Hell, I couldn't even manage to send James to school, which was the whole point of this one. Sorta. He's one stubborn bugger, I'll give him that.

So then, tentacles and twitches will have to wait. Instead, Sirius does get outlawed, James is the guru of patience, James' mum is the mother we all dream to have when we're ill, and James' dad is trying to poison his surrogate kid. It's, let's call it, Part Five point something, shall we? And it plays from Jan 4 to Jan 11 or so.

* * *

**Disclaimer: Refer to Ch. 1. Not mine, la dee dah.**

**Part Six: Second Son**

Time had lost all meaning.

Everything had, those few days — weeks? — that followed his last, halfway complete memory. One moment, he'd been in the cold, in the snow… he'd been dying; he'd been trying to, in fact, but something — someone, _James_ — had kept him from it. It was a distant, sketchy memory at best. The next thing he remembered — or thought he remembered — things had changed, but he couldn't tell how or why.

He spent his time alternating between periods of warm, hazy darkness, interrupted by — much shorter — periods of a half-arsed sort of consciousness. Sometimes, during these periods, there were hands that moved him around, which often hurt enough to make him pass out again; or something he couldn't for the life of him identify trickled down his throat now and then. What stirred him most were the voices, such familiar voices, that spoke to him in soft, hushed tones. He held glimpses of faces, sometimes familiar, sometimes completely alien, in sharp focus once or twice; but he couldn't really even bring himself to wonder who it was, hovering over him every so often.

Part of him knew where he was and who he was with and didn't need to figure anything out, but this part was hurting and quite detached from his conscious mind, which in turn was so slow he often forgot what he was wondering about before he had even managed to remember the answer to half thought-out questions. The rest of him seemed to have had enough of the world and shut itself so completely off that it was like swimming in a pool of blackness.

The only constant was the pain. It was ever-present, sometimes sharp and searing, sometimes a dull, throbbing ache that made it nearly impossible to focus on anything, made him not even want to try. Movement was impossible on his own, and any sort of position became uncomfortable after a few moments, making it harder still to stay awake; and then there were fevers, and times — there were many of these — where someone was touching and prodding and sponging right where it hurt most… And then, as if the gods of wherever he was had taken pity on him, it was back to a warm, dark nothing.

Sirius liked it there, to the point he wished he'd never wake up again; everything was much simpler there. Nothing hurt or worried him there. That feeling, which gripped him for the few moments he was awake, that there was something he needed to do — something incredibly urgent that couldn't wait — was gone; the pain disappeared, as did the voices and the faces and the movements. But these periods, he sensed absently, were steadily becoming shorter, the periods of wakefulness slowly got longer… Until, one day, he no longer passed out; now he slept. And dreamed.

It was still hard, but he was starting to remember some things. James was prominent amongst them, a constant since the first time he had woken. He was a different James than the one he remembered, and yet the same. His James was always loud and energetic, quick to laugh, quicker still to make him laugh. This one was simply too quiet, and his was one of the voices he'd learnt to cling to every time the blackness faded and made room for other things, things that made him panic when they popped up in his head, but James' voice helped him stay focused… when he could match a name to it.

Any other time, Sirius would have quickly felt frustrated at not knowing exactly what was going on with and around him; but that too, had changed. Part of him, the part that knew what was what and why and how, the part of him that feared something, that knew something terrible, the part that was hurting and very aware of things, this part was simply too far away from him; so he just watched and waited for it to come back.

And one day, it did.

A little, but it was enough to know he shouldn't be here — wherever that was; it was enough to know he _shouldn't_ be in human form, that he was in danger, and anyone dumb enough to be around him was in danger too.

James, though, had made that part of him shut up again, and somehow — bugger if he knew how exactly — he had managed to convince Sirius he was safe. That things were okay, that he should lie still and just… rest.

"Hey, Padfoot… No, wait— don't go dog. It's alright, you're safe here. Safe, see? There's nothing out there to hurt you, I promise—"

_Or had he?_

Maybe, Sirius mused idly, it had just been a dream. There had been fireworks, a celebration of some sort. It just didn't make sense. The memories of curses, of death and cold and pain, those seemed natural, those made sense to him; not this, whatever _this_ was.

_Dream, probably_. He'd cling to it for as long as he could, he decided. It was a good one, it had the works — scents and warmth and everything. _Very realistic. Nice_.

He was in that dark, warm place once more, lying on a soft, warm surface and buried under a fluffy duvet that smelled of… Home. Of laughter and safety and good times; it smelled just like the linens of the Potter household, with a sharp undertone of antiseptic and potions he'd long come to associate with the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. He even fancied he could catch a whiff of Pomfrey's signature perfume at random.

Sirius didn't move or open his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come again. He just lay there and waited for his mind to engage, slowly becoming aware of a dull, throbbing ache all over his right leg, which spread to his side until his midriff felt like it was being pummelled by a troll. But the other things, the ones that reminded him of the places he loved, of people he cared about more than anything, didn't fade. Around him it was silent, except for faint, steady sounds of breathing nearby. He spent some time wondering idly who those sounds belonged to… And then the images started flashing before his mind's eye.

Bellatrix was the first to pop up, her manic, cruel laugh ringing shrilly in his ears. Suddenly, he was in his old room at his mother's, and Bellatrix' dark eyes were replaced by piercing red, her laugh became a hiss — "You are mine now, Sirius. And you will serve a purpose for the Dark Lord, whether you want it or not—" Sirius gave a start, heart hammering wildly in his chest.

This, he knew, was _real_.

Too real; he could feel the words in his chest, like a hand gripping him tightly. He could hear them ringing in his ears, and he felt cold spreading from deep inside him. His eyes snapped open in fright, as a jumble of memories suddenly poured forth, flashes of images that had been disconnected and far away until now piecing together a story that was as terrifying as the sensations it called forth. He tried to move away from them, eyes flying open and looking around for an escape route, certain he'd been dreaming, he still _was_ — any second now, the unfamiliar shadows of a cosy, homely room would fade away and turn into reality: a barn or some nook in a forest where he hid last.

The more his frantic mind thought of it, the more it made sense — he'd _imagined_ being in a bed at the Potters', because he craved for them. He'd imagined everything: James, because he missed his best friend and longed for a friendly face to help him; Madam Pomfrey, because he needed a Healer; the Hospital Wing because it was the place where he always got help when he was ill. But it couldn't be real, none of it could — he'd just get James worse than killed if he sought him out…

Sirius made to sit up, alarm replacing his last thought process with a panicky sort of feeling that felt more befitting the situation than anything else: he was _human— gods _he was _human_, and being human meant more danger, more pain, more hurt. As if to confirm it, searing pain shot up his back the instant he moved. His right leg and chest were on fire, and the back of his head and neck felt like he'd been skewered—

"_Gah—_" he gasped, trying to transform — he _had_ to, before the Death Eaters arrived. He needed his wand, he needed to leave this place right this instant —

But he couldn't.

Aaaah!

Panic gripped him when fur didn't appear, when his hands failed to become paws at his frantic command. He didn't know where he was, the room wasn't fading, he couldn't even feel the cold that had been a constant for so long… But he was more focused on looking for a way out, suddenly certain he'd been captured, any moment now Lucius or Bellatrix or his mother even, would appear out of the shadows and force him into doing the unthinkable, the unspeakable. This time, he wouldn't be able to fight it, he knew that as well. He would break, he'd go after James, turn him into something so horrifying his brain jammed at the thought.

"Sirius?"

_No, no… not you_, he pleaded in his mind, which was already hysterical, trying to piece together an explanation for this. His mouth had gone dry, why, _why_ was James talking to him when this was quite clearly some Death Eater's house, when he'd surely been captured and was being tricked into doing things he'd regret for the rest of his — surely short and painful — life?

"Sirius, what's wrong?" James asked. He was coming closer, his messy hair standing in every direction as he stumbled out of bed and approached him. What the hell was he doing here? Didn't he know it was dangerous, for him especially? Sirius turned his head this way and that, trying to find a possible escape route, but he realised the next instant that even if he found one, he couldn't move. He struggled with his covers, but his hands were not responding, choosing to clench much as his teeth were. Pain gripped him next, searing and sharp and constricting. He shouldn't have moved, gods what had they _done to him_?!

"What are you doing?" James was by his side, alarmed as he caught Sirius, who had managed to topple headfirst off the bed. Sirius muffled a cry as James' hand supported the back of his neck, but he couldn't hold himself upright, or move away like he wanted to. He was shaking all over, with pain and fear, gasping for breaths that wouldn't fill his lungs—

"Sirius, it's alright — _it's me_," James was saying, becoming frantic as well. "Don't you know me? Look at me, it's _James_. Look at me. _Now_."

Almost despite himself, Sirius did. It _was_ James.

"_No_," Sirius moaned. He'd failed— he'd been imperio'd or something and had lured James into a trap, he'd done exactly the one thing he had vowed never to do— Voldemort would do the most terrible of things—

"It's alright, there's no danger here. We've been over this before, when are you going to believe me? Whoa, you're getting heavy…" James struggled a bit but in the end, he managed to readjust him on the bed. Sirius gritted his teeth, but for all that he struggled to get up, he couldn't but slump back against the pillows he'd been lying on before. "There are no Death Eaters here. You're at my house, you've been here for ages. And, Padfoot— no, listen. I solemnly swear it's safe here. We're both safe… It's all right." Sirius stared into James' eyes, panting without quite getting a breath in.

"Wha? _No_," he managed. This was indeed James, but… "There's… there's… the… the…"

"There's no Death Eaters," James repeated very clearly, looking straight into Sirius' eyes. "There's no danger. You _are safe_, believe me."

"No… No Death Eaters?" Sirius echoed in disbelief. How was this even _possible_? He wondered, even though a tiny part of him was telling him this wasn't the first time this conversation, if it could even be termed that, had happened.

"None," James confirmed, taking a deep breath even as Sirius stared at him. He sat down next to him on the bed, heating up some tea with a wave of his hand and pouring a cup. "You're at my house, and I promise you, the most dangerous thing here is that pile of laundry in the corner. " Sirius' eyes wandered from James' to the heap of clothes spilling out of the basket. "Honest, it's terrible. Have some of this, it'll help you sleep."

Sirius sipped the warm, honeyed tea, and gradually, the same sort of detached haze from before started creeping up on him. He couldn't believe where he was, but James was there, he was _real_, and he carried on talking, about shirts tripping him up and socks smelling so bad it should be made illegal, but it was to Sirius as if his voice came from very far away. When Mrs. P. came in, looking dishevelled and smelling of sleep as she adjusted a bathrobe over her nightgown, Sirius was half drifting off again. His eyes snapped open with a jolt.

"Oh _mum…_ I _nearly_ had him," James groaned. "He was _this_ close to going back to sleep…"

"Go to bed James, you look dead on your feet," she said softly, ruffling James' hair and taking the cup from him. Sirius followed everything in silence, taking in their scents, their voices, the worn-out expressions… "You'll be more useful if you watch him in the morning… I need to go buy more herbs early, before you go to school."

"But I don't want to go to school, it starts _tomorrow_," James protested, but he was already shuffling back to his bed. Betty Potter smiled, shaking her head in defeat. "I'm too tired to go, for one." Which wasn't a lie, "plus, the catering's terrible, and all that _homework…_" There was no doubt now, this _was_ James. He hadn't been lying. Sirius still had no clue what had happened to get him here, and even the part of him that knew he'd been told — several times too— had forgotten.

"What do you think, Sirius? Should James go back to school, hm?" Mrs. P. Asked him, gently checking his bandages over and caressing his fringe. Sirius just blinked at her, as though he were seeing her for the first time. It wasn't until then that he truly believed where he was, that he was indeed at the Potters', that there were no Death Eaters anywhere near. It was a huge weight off his chest, even if this was the place he'd avoided the most, it was also where he'd craved to be with all his heart.

"He… he needs to com…complete his education, Mrs. P." It was little more than a whisper, but it surprised both James and his mum. She smiled more brightly, offering him more tea. It was sweet and smelled of flowers of some sort, and it made him very sleepy.

"Indeed. Listen to Sirius, James. He's talking sense."

"That would be a first," James retorted, but he was laughing. Sirius watched him in silence, being reminded of that other James he remembered knowing… The loud one. "That proves he hit his head. Hard. He'd never make me go to school otherwise."

"I'm not… making you," Sirius slurred out. Already he was close to dozing. "Your mum is." This made both Potters laugh.

"Oh, but I have missed you," Betty told Sirius fondly, winking at James, who grinned. He was out of it in the space of a breath, and Betty moved to her son's bedside. "He's getting better," she told him, tucking him in and casting a warming charm on his covers.

"I really don't want to go to school, mum." James had lost his cheery exterior. So did Betty.

"But Dumbledore said—"

"I know what he said," James replied miserably. "I just don't want to go without being damn sure he'll pull through."

"Mind your tongue, James Potter." The tone was soft, not even chiding.

"Sorry."

"I don't think it's unwarranted if you miss a few days," came next, gently. She ran her fingers through James' untidy mop of hair. "We are all tired enough to sleep a week, aren't we?" James nodded.

Since Boxing Day, it had been very hectic, what with Dumbledore coming over and Pomfrey running them to early graves with her gazillion healing instructions, and then watching Sirius day and night like hawks… not to mention, that Death Eater attack they'd barely managed to repel with the aid of the entire village. Gods, the list was endless. Not that the holidays had been relaxing before then, either. Right now, going to school was the last item on James' agenda.

"We'll talk to Dumbledore in the morning, I'm sure we can cook up a suitable excuse for you starting late; but he'll need much longer than a week, son… and you can't be here all the time."

James looked away. He was well aware of what his mother meant; Dumbledore had come over on Boxing Day, the very evening James had brought Sirius in, and helped James' dad with the spells to permanently obliterate the Tristram Trace, and Madam Pomfrey — James would have to remind Sirius to stop calling her Poops, wouldn't he? — had been smuggled over too. She literally saved Sirius' life.

In the meantime, Dumbledore had laid plans for the foreseeable future with them all, and foremost amongst them was to act like Sirius had really died; that way the Dark Side would really believe that he'd drowned in the North Sea. James was crucial to this part of the plan, since he would be the only one out in public; his parents had retired from work a year ago, and aside from their social calls they were seldom seen by large crowds. James, though, was already a personality at Hogwarts, as was Sirius; it was him everyone would be looking at and talking about. So, him being worn out and tired would actually help their ploy along, he could claim he hadn't slept because he was mourning. But he would have to go to school, and he hated the arrangement, but his parents supported it. He was safe from Death Eaters and Voldemort at Hogwarts, they all knew that; and when Sirius was better — Poops—er, Pomfrey— had said he _might_ not be able to return before _February_ of all things— they'd claim he'd been hiding out and then act all surprised like at his sudden reappearance. Or something, James had been seething over having to leave and hadn't paid attention to the last part of the plotting.

Worst of all was where he'd have to _lie_ to Moony and Wormtail. He had shut off his grate due to the attacks, he'd asked them not to write anymore, but he wouldn't be able to hide from them at school. He'd have to pretend Sirius was dead, act the part of the devastated best friend, and worry himself to pieces from a distance. He hated it, all of it. No, he wasn't in a hurry to pack his trunk in the morning. Much less with Sirius like this; he'd been out of it for days and only woke up for the first time right before New Year's. Since, he'd been in and out of it, and the panic attacks like tonight's were a constant whenever he woke; James had so far been the only one who managed to get him out of those when they happened. What would happen if he was miles away in bloody _potions class_ and Sirius woke up in a state?

"Just… just until we really know, mum. Please."

She smiled and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"I'll do my best, James. Now you need to sleep too."

* * *

A muffled whimper woke him up a few days later. The smallest noise would do that lately, and James idly wondered when he had become so… motherly. When he opened his eyes, he bit back a groan; it was not even daybreak yet. He then wondered when he'd get a full night's sleep again — the answer came instantly, as he had only a couple more days at home before being sent back to school, without a hope to wheedle for more time — but then remembered that Sirius probably needed help and dismissed all thoughts of sleep.

Why Sirius chose these ungodly times to wake up was beyond James, but it was a nightly occurrence now. He had been here for over a week, and not once had he been awake during the daytime since he started being marginally more lucid. He groped for his glasses, but as he squinted over to the far end of the large room, it was to see someone had already beaten him to it. He saw his mum over by Sirius' bedside, caressing Sirius' head and whispering something into his ear. Sirius was curled up against her, his head resting on her shoulder, and James didn't need their link to know what had woken him up.

_A nightmare again._ He was certain of it. Sirius had been getting better lately, and he was less confused and panicked when he woke up, even if it still was only for short periods of time. But as his awareness grew, the nightmares started. Even Pomfrey had warned them this would happen, things like what he'd been through just weren't shaken off so easily and they'd catch up with him eventually.

"It could happen in a week, or a month, or a year — but it _will_ happen, and you lot need to be there for him when it does," she'd told them, even if the Potters didn't need the forewarning, or to be told to be around. Of course they would. Just like his mum was right now.

James buried himself under his covers once more. He was glad Sirius was awake, because he'd feared for the first few days he wouldn't wake up at all, and he was glad that his mum was there to help, but most of all, he was glad to be able to share the best of his family with him. And it was sorely needed… Sirius simply was unused to touch or gentleness of any kind, he'd always been a bit of an oddball in that regard… But he was learning differently now, and the way James saw it, it was high time he did.

He carried on watching the goings-on in the far end of his — their — room, until he realised Sirius was looking at him. He looked like he'd been crying, and he was staring ahead now, completely exhausted while James' mum held him close. James couldn't be sure whether or not Sirius could actually _see_ him, but it didn't matter either way. After so many years of sharing so many experiences, of being part of each other, there was nothing to warrant embarrassment here, and James understood better than anyone what was going on in Sirius' head. He'd asked him to stop blocking him out, and after much arguing, he had gotten his way. Sirius acknowledged defeat — though James reckoned it was only because he'd been worn out by the argument — and stopped keeping James in the dark so much, even though he still put his block up at random here and there; he couldn't help it, and James understood.

But taking down the block meant opening a can of worms, and living through it hadn't been easy for James either, even if it was witnessed second-hand; he now understood full well why Sirius had blocked him out, what it was like, living amongst dark wizards, in a family of Death Eaters, when you were against everything they did and stood for... He knew now what sort of hell Sirius had been through whenever he wasn't around James, what he'd been through to keep him and his family safe. Deep down, though, James was privy to something else as well, which more than made up for whatever nasty things went on in Sirius' head. There was a strength he'd sensed a few times before, but not this constant, or burning so strong; feelings in turmoil due to the shock of the events, yes, but beyond that, there was caring, loyalty, love, and a fierce sense of determination to see this through, to never again be cowed like he had been. Yes, Sirius had been through a nightmare, and needed to come to terms with it — but he wasn't broken by it. There was hope there, which would surface again once he was better.

Certainly, it wouldn't happen without help, but that was James' speciality. If there was anyone who could make Sirius laugh despite anything, it was him, and he was well aware of this power; but most of all, James was as determined, if not more, to help Sirius through this madness as Sirius was of getting out of it himself.

Even if looking at him right now, all but wrapped around James mum, it felt like it was impossible to get him out of it at all.

James carried on watching, and wondered if anyone had ever done this for Sirius before. Instantly he knew the answer to that, and he appreciated what his mum was doing all the more.

Eventually Sirius' eyes slid closed, still curled up against Betty, who did not move away. She too, could tell what James knew for a fact, and whispered soothingly in her surrogate son's ear. He might be sleeping, but part of him _was_ listening, and it was this part which they needed to make whole again as soon as possible.

* * *

That it wouldn't be easy was made evident the very next day.

James, who hadn't slept very well for days, didn't wake up until eleven in the morning. When he finally did and had slapped his glasses on, it was only to find Sirius awake, staring at the wall opposite and out the window. He hadn't stirred, apparently, since last night... And it didn't look like he wanted to.

"Morning," said James sleepily, sitting up. Sirius gave a start, turning to look at him... but didn't answer.

Unless you could count blinking as an answer.

"How are you feeling?" James asked anyway, groping for his wand, shuffling out of bed, into a bathrobe and across the recently enlarged room. Sirius still hadn't answered by the time James sat down on his bedside, his eyes following James' every movement in silence, as if he were having trouble recognising him at all. Sadly, this wasn't uncommon, but James was used to it, and knew that some gentle prodding did the trick. So he asked again, and now he was close enough that Sirius couldn't overlook who he was or disregard the question.

"Better."

James watched him mock-critically for a moment, then flashed him a smile.

"You're the worst ever liar, mate."

"You reckon?"

"No, I _know_ it. I'll get mum here, maybe she can give you a hand or two. Dad was making you some potions, so... You'll really feel better in a few." He left Sirius to get his mother a moment later, whom he found helping his dad in the kitchen. They were trying to brew potions, he realised. There were several dangerous-looking concoctions already lined up on the kitchen table.

"Morning," he said cheerfully, peering at the smoking phials. "Blimey, do you want to give him _that_?" The potions smelled terrible, even worse with his sharp nose. He grimaced.

"Well, we haven't really made any of these restoratives in a long time," said Betty for a greeting. James peered into the cauldron, then at the recipe they were looking at...

"Looks complicated... and it says here it should be red, not blue. There's no way I'm letting you give him any of those. What would his epitaph say? 'Survived the Death Eaters only to succumb to Potter potions'. It's anticlimactic."

"Oh, yes, you're right son," said Coop, ruffling his hair and sighing in frustration.

"I wish I could just go to the apothecary and have them whip these up," Betty complained. "And we need them urgently now… He needs them for later, he's almost out of painkillers—"

"And _I_ wish we had a potions master in the family," Coop muttered, tossing the sheafs of parchment on the table before tossing out the cauldronful of — poison, quite likely— out the window.

"We _do_ have one, now I think of it," James answered, whipping out his wand and making a quick copy of the recipes his parents were fretting over.

"We do?"

"Pete," said James, already on his way back out. "There's not a potion he can't make, it's just about the only thing he's good at, aside from eating twice his weight at every meal and getting us caught at every turn."

"But—"

"Don't worry, I won't tell him who these are for, and he'll never even guess. Not the brightest spark in the wand, our Pete. Sadly." James interrupted his dad before the inevitable reminder. If Pete were but a little more trustworthy, he wouldn't have to keep him or Moony in the dark about this. They'd all be here, helping. As they bloody well _should_. Gah. "Be right back, oh and Mum? Sirius is awake, but all... well. You saw him last night."

"I'll be upstairs in a moment, honey. I'm fixing his lunch. I hope he can keep this one down…"

"Oh, just give him chocolate pudding, you know he can't resist it."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Betty asked moments later, lowering a tray laden with food and potions on Sirius' bedside table. This time the reply came lots sooner than they were used to by now.

"Better, Mrs. P."

"You're the worst liar ever, sweetheart," James' mum said fondly. Behind her, James snorted.

_Told you so, _he told Sirius with a thought. "Yeah, he is," he confirmed aloud, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "I sometimes wonder how Googles believes the tosh he feeds her. Maybe it's just that she's got a thing for him," he said, laughing at Sirius' expression. Oh yes, he was starting to remember stuff. Although, truth be told, he'd never have dreamed he'd once have to remind Sirius who Googles even _was_.

"She does _not_ have a… a… a _thing_ for me." James smirked at the way Sirius managed to convey his disgust on the matter with just one grimace.

"Aye, she does, my dear friend. She _loooooves_ you."

"That's just…" Sirius trailed off, clearly racking his brains for a way to finish this sentence. James grinned insolently at him. "Just… grossly inappropriate."

"Doesn't make it any less true," he countered cheerfully, even as his mum laughed and spooned some soup into Sirius' mouth. She'd missed this every bit as much as James had. He idly wondered if she'd find it as funny later, when it would be non-stop banter again. If it ever happened.

"Shut up, James." Sirius sounded tired. Then again, he always sounded tired lately. James didn't let that stop him, they'd finally started getting past the 'oh no! Death Eaters — no Death Eaters, you're safe'-type conversations, and he wanted to get Sirius off them for good before he left.

"It breaks my heart, it really does, when you say something like that," James said, "But it's true. Especially when I _know_ she only let you off with one loo duty that other day, and that was only because she couldn't watch you at it herself. You should've gotten like, triple that. Like me. At _least_." 'That other day' had been, in fact, a few days before the end of term. "We both know _you_ got into her catnip, not I. And we both know that she scented it, because cats are like that. And," he added happily, ignoring Sirius' utterly confused expression, "we _both_ know she loooooves you."

"She doesn't," Sirius replied, but it came automatically, after swallowing his soup. James knew Sirius was more caught up trying to remember which prank James had been talking about; and quite possibly, he had also forgotten all about school and everything that came with the package. But he would remember. He _had_ to, because this was his life, not the pit of hell he'd been raised in; and James also knew that to Sirius, the events that had only happened before the holidays could have happened in another lifetime, not just a couple of weeks back. He watched his mum feed Sirius an entire bowl of soup in silence, and then he got some Pettigrew-quality potions, and _then_ his mum was all over his bandages, taking them off for the customary wound-cleaning and changing, which James would have strongly protested but Sirius endured in the same silence he'd kept so far.

And finally…

"Wait a minute." It was so abrupt, even James' mum stopped sponging at a particularly nasty cut on Sirius' side. They both looked up at him inquiringly. He frowned back at them, confused. "I didn't get into the catnip last time. You made that up… We did… Dumbledore's furniture, didn't we?"

_Score!_

"Maybe, but she still loves you." James' face would've split in two, if he'd been grinning any more widely. "Ah, if you were only a few years older… And more of a cat person…" he batted his eyes at Sirius, who snorted in defeat. It was more like a dry cough and turned into a wince halfway through, but this was the first time James had seen anything remotely resembling a laugh on his face. It was priceless.

"Shut up, James." And this was too.

* * *

The atmosphere in Godric's Hall had changed dramatically over the last few days, but as the first week of January drew to a close, the change was impossible to ignore. Yule, Christmas, and New Year's had gone past without a real sign of life in the old manor, but now there was music downstairs again, and everyone was in a generally cheerful mood, even if all three Potters, their six house-elves, and even Madame Pomfrey were exhausted. James dismissed it all with a nonchalant, "He's just high-maintenance, our Sirius. Siriusly," but out of them all, he spent the most time awake, and whenever Sirius was deeply asleep or getting a round of healing he wasn't allowed in the room for, he kept himself busy devising new ways to get Sirius back to his old ways.

He seemed to be trying to get Sirius on his feet before he left for Hogwarts, but the appointed day was looming closer and he couldn't overlook it. He had managed to wheedle one week from Dumbledore, but not a day longer. The old headmaster even went as far as to point out that he'd had a longer holiday than most other years, because New Year's had fallen on a Thursday. No amount of negotiating, threatening or pleading had managed to buy him time, much less after this morning's paper came in. James would have to start convincing people Sirius was dead, and pronto. He couldn't do that from home.

_Bugger_.

It wasn't a lie when he claimed he was nervous about going back to Hogwarts. But worse still than having to face the entire school, worse even than facing Remus and Pete, was facing Sirius. He didn't know James was leaving soon, that he would leave the day after tomorrow, that there was no other way to keep him safe. Now he wasn't afraid that Sirius would die anymore, James was frankly afraid to piss him off.

_And this,_ he mused, _could easily do the trick_.

Sirius had made a dramatic sort of progress over the past handful of days; not only was he no longer at an immediate risk of death, but he had also finally managed to remember most of his escape, had accepted James' account of the bits he'd been too moribund to properly register of how he had gotten to the Potters' at all, had even managed to recognise everyone on the first try since Wednesday, and the panic attacks upon waking were a thing of the past. Hopefully for good, but… James had no valid excuses — none that were valid for Dumbledore, at any rate — to stay beyond this weekend. Moony and Wormtail made a point of calling over the Floo every day, and they were earnestly desolate. He was needed there as well, even though he couldn't tell the truth to them. It was ugly no matter which way he spun it, and as he read over the article for the fifth time early on Saturday morning, he realised he couldn't put it off any longer.

He sighed. This wasn't going to go down well.

"Are you telling him today?" Coop went straight to the point, nursing a cup of the strongest coffee in the Wizarding World. It barely hit the spot of late.

"It doesn't look as if I have another choice, dad. He won't like it," James ruffled his hair. "He hates lying to anyone, and when he finds out it's over this…"

"He'll come to understand it's for his own safety."

"You've seen him, dad. His safety means turnips to him. He'll drive himself batty wanting to put this right…"

"And listen to you in the end. He always does, and he will. They all will, and it's hard on everyone son, but…"

"I know. It's the only way."

"If we tell anyone he's alive, the Ministry will come for him. In the best of cases, they'll hold him in Azkaban." James shuddered at the thought. "He wouldn't survive it, much less after everything that's happened to him. In the worst of cases, he'll be handed over to Voldemort, and—"

"He certainly won't survive _that_. I know," James mumbled. "He'll still worry more about Remus and Pete."

"His mother hasn't said he's dead. The Ministry has witnesses that place Sirius at the time and place of death of that girl… people saw him bending over her body as she bled to death. They saw him destroy half the street. The MLE is looking for him actively… and they're getting that warrant, James. They searched Alfie's this morning. They will come here and search the house, and we need him to cooperate when they do… and you."

"I know." James whispered it, but it carried nonetheless. He stood up, cleared his throat, took the paper. "I just… I wish it were different."

"So do I, son. I am sorry."

He went upstairs right after, deciding that getting it over with was the best course of action. Like Sirius, he had trouble lying to anyone unless it meant getting a laugh out of it for a prank, and up until now, he'd managed to convince himself that Sirius wasn't well enough to hear any of what he had to say. But now Sirius was awake for longer, and even managed to sit up on his own without too great a struggle; ready or not, he had to hear this.

He wasn't ready, James saw that the second he stepped into their shared room and caught Sirius staring out the window again. He had made a great progress, yes, but he was nowhere near healed, emotionally or physically. He'd go someplace nasty whenever he was left alone for longer than five minutes, and through their blood-bond James knew Sirius couldn't help it any more than he could help breathing; he was haunted by more than he let on, and if he'd told anyone, it hadn't been James.

Still, he showed Sirius the paper, where it was announced that he was wanted for murder, that a price had been set on his head, that he'd be taken to Azkaban the second he was arrested. Sirius didn't even bat an eyelid throughout. He read the article a few times over — James could see his eyes flying over the paper, and all but hear his thoughts — but he didn't comment on it, or seem surprised, or anything.

James managed to endure the silence for all of two minutes.

"What do you want to do?" he ventured, deciding that whatever the plans they'd laid, he'd do what nobody had done until now and actually _ask_ Sirius for his opinion before he sprung anything on him.

"Turn myself in. I'll go and tell them what happened," Sirius said simply. James, for all he had turned the matter over for days and days, hadn't expected anything like this.

"But the Death Eaters," he blurted, scandalised. "They all but run the Ministry!"

"Yeah. Them." Sirius lowered the paper. "They killed her. Rod did. It should've been me."

"What?"

"He missed me and hit her instead. And… and when she was… dying," Sirius had trouble getting that word out, he already sounded all choked up, and the mental imagery popping into James' mind was graphic if nothing else. He saw what Sirius had seen, felt what he'd felt, and his heart broke along with his. But, he reminded himself, the girl was dead and nothing anyone did could bring her back. Sirius, though, wasn't beyond help. Not yet, not if he went along with Dumbledore's plan. "She pulled me out of the way of another curse. She only died because she stopped to help me. She was _kind to me_, James. She died for it... She saved my life, Prongs. What else am I supposed to do except tell them what really happened? I'm not running anymore, not from them."

That didn't mean he had to run _to_ them, did it?

"Not handing yourself over to the Death Eaters would be a fair start," James answered levelly, but all his composure started crumbling when Sirius looked up at him. This wasn't just a false accusation, not in his eyes. He might not have killed her, but he was blaming himself for her death. "We'll figure this out, I promise. But the MLE are coming here soon, and you can't go handing yourself over to them all willy-nilly. There's a plan," he went on, before Sirius could start arguing. "Dumbledore's, not mine," he clarified. Sirius' mouth, which he'd opened to counter whatever he'd said until now, snapped shut. James took a deep breath. "He… he's playing the death card. That… that you're dead, I mean. It will get the Ministry off your back until you're better."

"_What_?" Now it was Sirius' turn to be gob-smacked.

"We're — all of us, that is — we're putting it out there that you're dead. Listen— no, _really_ listen," James interrupted yet again. Sirius was scandalised, it was written all over his face. "I know you don't like this, I _know_, believe me. I don't either... But Dumbledore is right, there's nothing doing unless you're well enough to face them again. There's… this arrest warrant to grab you, right. They'll stick you straight in _Azkaban_, Padfoot. Worse, they'll likely give you to the Sod and pretend you died in prison— no, _listen_! I'm not letting you do that, even if there's a trial, you're not going now and you're most certainly not going without me. We'll do everything to help with this murder, I solemnly swear. But not until you're all right again."

"But…" Sirius had gone very pale at the mention of the Sod. "But I'm not dead, James. I'm not dead," he mumbled. James had the distinct impression that he believed everything would be much easier if he was.

"No, but you _will be_ unless we do this. And," James added fervently, "I'm not letting you die. You promised, remember? You're not dying before I am, and I don't plan on dying anytime soon. So, you'll have to do what I say. Because unless we do this, you're toast. Do you want to be toast _and_ get the Curse of the Eunuch on top of that for breaking an oath?" He left the statement hanging for all of three seconds, which he spent relishing Sirius' baffled expression. "See, I don't think you do, I really don't, so here's what's going to happen..."

Sirius had gone very quiet. He listened, though. He listened to the entire plan as James laid it out and didn't interrupt once, his eyes never leaving James'.

"… So, since the Ministry has already searched Alphard's and found nothing, they'll stop by here soon. Dad demanded a warrant, and the Wizengamot is giving them it soon. That's not too much of a problem, you'll be under my cloak and no spell they cast will show you're here. And that's why I have to go to Hogwarts, to… to let people see me and tell everyone how you got killed by Death Eaters after we gave you a broom and things to escape. Then when you're better, you'll go to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore will make sure you get a fair trial over the murder thing. He won't let anyone take you anywhere."

Sirius was still silent. He looked down and away from James, thinking everything over.

"But Remus and Pete…"

"Will hate _me_ for it, not you," James assured him. He gave the fact that it didn't bother him so much when it was for Sirius only passing notice. "And maybe, with luck, they'll understand. Maybe it'll take a little while, but… Pete can't keep a secret for sod-all squared. Not something like this, he'll blurt everything out to the first girl who comes crying to him over your death… There's no shortage of those, you know? Remus might do that too, he's too much too soft, especially when they cry. It's too risky."

"It's a lot of trouble," Sirius mumbled. "If anyone finds out I'm here, your parents will get it. And you. When I go back, that's what's going to happen. It's a lot of lies."

"You didn't kill anyone, Sirius. You wouldn't." James' tone was as certain and firm as Sirius' was unsteady. "And we'll clear your name, together. Just not right away. You'll get better, and you'll come to Hogwarts, and we'll put things to rights. Together."

In the end, Sirius wasn't mad at him. He made it abundantly clear that he didn't like the arrangement, that he couldn't really bear the thought of lying to Remus and Pete and the world any more than James did. But worst of all was, when it finally sunk in that James was leaving to go to school, and that it meant that James wouldn't be around 24/7 any longer, the way Sirius' face fell made James want to scrap everything and stay regardless of what Dumbledore said or did. He'd implicitly known for ages how much he meant to Sirius, as Sirius meant loads to him as well… but he'd never really even stopped to think how much Sirius actually _needed_ him, especially now.

"I'll try to come and visit," he promised. "I solemnly swear; I might not manage every day, but. I'll keep in touch, all right? Just… just get better, will you? Focus on that and nothing else, and we'll take care of everything. You'll be all right, I promise." And though Sirius agreed to everything James said in the end, that last wasn't going to happen unless James did come around.

He didn't tell Sirius as much, but he didn't really know how to make that happen.

His mum and dad came in moments later — James was sure they'd been eavesdropping — and though they did their best to cheer them both up, their every attempt fell through. Sirius just looked more miserable the longer passed, and James was amazed at how contagious he could be, how miserable he could get. It felt like a miracle would be needed to turn his mood around.

"It doesn't look good, I know," Coop said, as they were all sitting on Sirius' bed. "But it's our best shot, and we'll take it. As a family."

"It's too dangerous. For you. It's too much trouble… it's too risky, and definitely not wor—"

"Sirius Black, don't you even dare start," Betty cut him off firmly. She was using her bossy tone, which ended any argument before it began. Sirius' voice died in his throat. "It's worth it to us. You're worth it, honey. To me, to all of us. You're family, and we love you. And you're daft if you think we'll let any of those goons have you for even one second. You belong with us, son. And here's where you'll stay."

It was a very uplifting little speech, and she had said everything James had tried to tell Sirius for ages. It made James' heart swell, and dispelled the misery Sirius was all but radiating all over the place. Sirius was staring at her like he didn't believe his ears. James expected him to be relieved, to smile, even.

He never expected Sirius to burst into tears.

.

* * *

"Do I _have_ to?" James sounded plaintive.

And he looked wretched.

It was heartbreaking, if only because he had never once done this before. Other kids did this before their first year, only to itch to go back to school for the rest of their education; and the loving parents were doomed to miss their kids for most of the year for the duration of the said education. However, this kid was 16 years old, which amused Betty Potter to no end. In secret, of course; it wouldn't do to have him sense she'd rather keep him at home for another week, he'd never relent otherwise. Outwardly, she and her husband looked harassed and close to losing their patience.

"You know you do, son. We've been over this already." Coop Potter said in a long-suffering tone.

"Several times, too," Betty Potter remarked to that last.

"I've already missed the start of term, why can't I miss an extra week?" James asked, but allowed himself to be ushered towards the grate. His father went first, to test that the grate was safe. The Potter front room was filled with a momentary flash of green as Coop disappeared. James turned to his mother, giving her his own rendition of the Pleading Puppy Padfoot Stare (TM). Betty thought he looked rather constipated. "_Mum_?"

"You know why, now go on ahead. I want to be back before Sirius wakes up. You know how he gets when he's left alone for too long, so get cracking, oh son of mine."

"Trying to get rid of me, are you?" James tried, and failed, to sound reproachful. Betty Potter laughed good-naturedly, and levitated his trunk into the fireplace. "Sometimes I feel like you love him more."

"What's to say I don't?" she asked mischievously. "He behaves better, at any rate."

"He's_ half dead_, mum! The only thing that behaves better than him right now is a _flobberworm_. Just you wait until he's on his feet, and then you'll love _me_ more again." Betty laughed once more. "No, really. He's a terror." James grinned, but Betty was hard to sway.

"Oh, I don't know. He's so nice and quiet…"

"_Broodish_," James corrected. "That's hardly better, that's just depressing. And we're trying to get him off that kick, so don't you encourage him."

"He's always so polite, too…"

"He's under the weather. That will correct itself as soon as his head injury is healed; don't get too used to it."

"He doesn't leave messes behind wherever he goes."

"He can hardly sit up, what sort of mess _could_ he make?" James frowned at her, rather confused himself. Could his mum be, well, serious?

"He hugs me more than you…"

"When he's got nightmares… And I do hug you, whenever you're not hugging _him_."

"He eats everything I cook…" Betty went on, undeterred. James frowned again. If this was about the sprouts incident three days ago…

"Half starved." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"He never complains about the food, either." Betty gave him her most winning smile.

"Ditto."

"His hair is tidier…"

"All right, that's quite enough. _Don't_ mess with the do."

"Get in there, then. I seriously need to be back before he wakes up."

"_Seriously_?" James grinned.

"Get on with it!" Betty laughed too as she shoved her son into the fire and tossed in a handful of Floo Powder.

"Hogwarts!" James shouted, and was gone with a whoosh. However, his playful mood was gone the instant the world stopped spinning and he found himself in Dumbledore's office.

"Finally," his dad said. "There I was, thinking I'd have to go back to get you."

"I can go back if you still want to give that a try," James answered, but his heart felt uncharacteristically heavy. He didn't want to be here; he'd made that abundantly clear. And even if he knew Sirius was asleep and impersonating a flobberworm, he already missed him. He felt worried, and when his dad wrapped a supportive arm around his shoulders, he realised it was showing on his face.

"What you'll be doing here is more important right now," Dumbledore told him gravely. James hadn't even noticed the old Headmaster standing there by his desk. He swallowed, and nodded in defeat.

"Yeah. I have to lie to all our friends…"

"And all your — _his_ — enemies. I should think that is more important."

"Yes, I _know_… I just don't like it. He doesn't either, by the way. I asked."

"Did he prefer the alternative?" Dumbledore asked back. James shrugged. No, Sirius didn't like the idea of getting hunted down by Dementors, but he didn't like faking his death, even if it was everyone in this room who would do that. James shook his head.

"He liked it about as much as he likes this one, sir. He wanted to go to the Ministry and clear things up himself. I had to talk him out of that too." And now, he was here, miles and miles away from Sirius, having to play a part he hated. Why couldn't he just stay at home, where he belonged?

"I know you want to be around him as much as you can," Dumbledore went on, sitting behind his desk and steepling his long fingers under his equally long nose. James knew his tendency to read your mind with a look, so he didn't even pretend Dumbeldore was wrong. "And I have already heard how much you've helped Sirius heal from Madam Pomfrey…" James vowed _never_ to call her Poopy Pomfrey again. "I have also heard — and witnessed first-hand — how much Sirius needs you around, especially now."

_Yeah, thanks for reminding me._ James looked down. He hadn't even left the Head office yet, and already this was harder than he'd thought. Could they really force him to stay? If he, say, snatched the Floo Powder and went home?

"Your father told me as much as well. So we were thinking, a certain... arrangement can be made."

"Choo mean, arrangement?" James' knotted up throat cleared almost instantly. Did he dare hope? He decided that he did; but… hope for _what_, exactly? He wasn't sure what the Headmaster was on about at all. Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Sir?"

"Here's what you will do…"

* * *

TBC. Yesss. R&R and all that jazz


End file.
